The Cure
by Roan Harkin
Summary: WeskerXRebecca Non-linear erotic fiction.
1. Chapter 1

**One**

"Hey?"

He finishes the sentence he is writing and looks up at her, waiting for her to continue. "What's your favourite book?" she asks. He pauses, unsure of where she is going with the question.

"Oliver Twist," he replies finally. It's the first thing he has said in hours of silence.

"Oh!" she nods. "Oh. I've never read it. Is it good?" Then she laughs lightly, bobbing her head, because she knows his answer before he gives it. "Well…"

"Well…"

"Of course you think it's good, yeah. I'm a doorknob."

A corner of his mouth turns up; a rare half-smile. He resumes his writing.

It's a penthouse office suite at 10:30 pm. The lights are still on in the other buildings. Rebecca is staring out one of the many large windows behind his desk; she's teetering on the edge of boredom. The scene reminds her of the prime time soap operas her mother used to watch in the 80's; to amuse herself she imagines she can hear the sleazy wailings of an alto saxophone. She presses her lips together to keep from laughing. He fits in perfectly. The suit may be new, but he still slicks back his hair. She turns to him. "Do you have a copy?" He looks up at her again.

"Yes."

"Like, here?"

He nods.

She puts her hands into her back pockets, shifts from one leg to the other. "Can I borrow it?"

"Sure," he says. He puts his pen down, stands up, and walks over to the bookcase. She could have gone to retrieve it herself, but she wanted to ask first. She's still fascinated by the idea that he has a bookcase in his office. It's next to the oak wall unit. She hasn't figured out what's in there.

He pulls the book off the shelf and hands it to her. He's still wearing his gloves. She takes it from him. "Thanks," she says. She turns away and opens the book in the middle, flipping the pages inattentively. It's a very long book. She glances up to see he's back at his desk. "Aren't you tired?" she asks.

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"No."

The book in her hand, she starts strolling around the room. He looks up over the edge of his sunglasses and watches her. "Are you nervous?" She stops where she's standing, holding the book with one hand and knocking on the cover with the other.

"It's a big book," she says finally, and with a sheepish grin.

"Does that trouble you?"

"No, no… well, medical books are longer, like, come on!" she babbles. "No, it's just… it's Dickens. I've never read anything by Dickens before."

"You'll enjoy him."

She holds the book up.

"How many times have you read this?"

"A dozen times or so."

She nods and looks down at the worn leather cover. The volume has definitely been thumbed through many times. He notices she seems daunted by the task at hand. "Do you want me to read it to you?"

Their eyes meet.

"Aren't you busy?"

"Yes, but I'm at liberty to make my own rules."

Rebecca feels rooted to her place.

"Okay," she says.

He stands up and takes off the jacket of his suit. He hangs it on the back of the large executive chair at his desk. Then he walks over to her and takes the book. He makes his way to the right-hand chaise and reclines on it, stretching his legs. Rebecca doesn't know what she should do. He looks up at her. He's taking off his gloves. That fact alone compels her to move towards him. She lowers herself onto the chaise and lounges next to him. He picks up the book and opens it to the first page. His hands are perfect. He begins to read out loud.

"'Treats of the place where Oliver Twist was born, and of the circumstances attending his birth.' Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter."

"Are you wearing cologne?" she asks him.

"A little, yes."

She smiles.

"I like it. What is it?"

"Xeryus Rouge."

"Oh," she says. He can tell she's never heard of it before.

"May I continue, Miss Chambers?"

She rolls her eyes.

"It's Rebecca, Captain."

"It's Albert, Rebecca."

She blushes.

"For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable doubt whether the child could survive to bear any name at all; in which case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs would never have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of pages, they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the most concise and faithful specimen of biography, extant in the literature of any age or country."

"Albert?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you like this book so much?"

He pauses, takes a breath.

"It resonates," he answers.

 **Two**

No one is saying anything.

Claire is sitting on a stool, biting her nails.

Chris' arms are folded across his chest; he's bouncing the heel of his boot off the steel toe of the other.

Leon is standing in the corner, his back against the wall. He looks up and catches Claire looking at him. They exchange sad smiles. There's history there, in that gaze.

Leon takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. The hiss of his breath seems to break the spell. Claire is the first to speak. "Is anyone else hungry?"

Chris stares at her in disbelief. Before he can say anything, Leon answers her.

"I'm kinda hungry."

"Should we order something?"

Leon shrugs.

"What's open?"

"Late night Chinese."

"You're gonna order food?" Chris asks. His brow is furrowed. Claire doesn't want to sound stupid; she simply nods.

"Cha Liu's is open 'til four in the morning," Leon offers.

"After all that, you're hungry?" Chris enquires.

Leon turns to him, still leaning his shoulder against the wall. The skin beneath his right eye is turning yellow, well on its way to purplish-black.

"Yeah," he says. "I am. Are you?"

There's a deep gash in Chris' left forearm. It has started to clot.

"No," he answers, shaking his head, incredulous.

"I'll order," Claire pipes up from where she's sitting. "Do we just want the usual?"

Leon doesn't answer immediately; he's waiting for Chris to say something else. They're watching each other uneasily. Chris is the first to look away.

"Yeah, just get the usual," Leon responds finally.

Jill is with the new staff doctor. He's treating her for what she assumes is a broken leg; it certainly feels like a broken leg, but she can't be sure. His last name is Cumberland. She doesn't know very much about him.

The fluorescent lights are buzzing overhead. Jill has always hated doctors' offices. "Well," he says at last, "the good news is it's not broken. It's severely bruised."

"What's the bad news?" she asks.

"No bad news," he smiles.

"Really?" she exclaims, pleasantly surprised. "I'm so used to hearing the bad with the good."

"Not in my office," he says. "Nothing but good here."

Jill is put at ease.

"What do I do now?"

"Try and stay off it," he tells her, "which, considering your profession, is not gonna be an easy feat."

"It never is," she sighs.

Cumberland shakes his head. He has no idea why anyone would want to do what Jill does. She's too flippant, he thinks. It's not funny. None of this is funny.

An hour passes, and the four of them are sitting in the lounge area of the facility. The seating is comprised of plastic chairs and ugly leather couches. Almost every couch has a tear in its baby-blue upholstery. Claire glowers at the room with sheer distaste. It's a new building, a new organization. She thought they'd at least spring for some new furniture.

The food at Cha Liu's is always delivered in the standard Chinese take-out cartons. Chris won't admit it, but he's always liked these old-school containers. Leon is taking them out of a large brown paper bag. The aroma is amazing; Chris' stomach starts to growl. Claire knew he'd come around, so she ordered him a portion. Before anyone can dig in, she orders Leon to stop putting the cartons out. "This table's dirty," she says. She goes to the sink and grabs the sponge everyone uses to wipe down the counters. They watch as she passes it vigorously over the table top. They look at her hands, not at each other.

There's nothing like this kind of food so late at night. They're so focussed on eating that they don't speak much; only brief comments here and there. Jill is wondering if Cumberland has eaten anything. She considers going to his office and letting him know there's a late dinner waiting. She stops herself, though, assuming that being a doctor has probably strictly limited his diet to health foods. If she goes to his office right now, however, she won't find him anyway. He's out back, having a smoke.

Leon catches Claire gazing at him again. He's just finished sucking up a mouthful of noodles; there's a little spot of grease on his chin. He smiles at her with his cheeks full and looks like a chipmunk. She smiles back and looks away. Chris has noticed this. He looks from one to the other with narrowed eyes, bouncing his left leg nervously on the ball of his foot. Leon feels guilty. He shouldn't forget himself. This isn't the time. But he hasn't seen Claire in years, and he knows she could use a smile right about now. Chris finishes his plate and puts his chopsticks down. The others are taking longer to finish. He burps a couple of times. Then he says, "If he lays one finger on her, I'll kill him."

"He's not gonna lay a finger on her," Leon tells him.

"You're sure, huh?" Chris challenges.

"I'm pretty sure."

"He won't blow the deal," Jill tries.

"'The deal'? Is that what we're gonna call it?" Chris' face is turning red.

Jill pops a chicken ball into her mouth so she doesn't have to answer.

"He won't risk it," Leon says on her behalf.

"Fucked if he won't risk it!" Chris snaps. Claire puts her hand on her forehead. She was expecting this. He looks at her, itching to hear what she has to say.

"I'm worried," she admits.

"No one said they liked the idea, Chris," Jill counters when she's swallowed the food.

"This is bullshit," Chris says, standing. Leon peers at him through heavy blonde bangs, then steals a look at Claire. This time it's she who catches him. "This is complete bullshit. All of us here, you know, we're a little older, we're a little wiser." He gesticulates with his hands. "Rebecca is eighteen 'til she dies. And he knows it. He knows it!" He turns away, paces a bit, then comes back. "I swear to you. One fucking finger, I'll blow his fucking head off." He leaves the room.

"I'm so tired," Jill says. Her bottom lip is trembling.

 **Three**

"Don't stop… please…"

2:30 in the morning. The rain has been falling for hours. It's a heavy, driving rain that's pelting the windows. A bluish glow has settled in the room, is being shed on the furniture, on the large bed against the far wall; the shadows of the raindrops are cast across the room as they fall. A round of thunder interrupts the steady pattering; then a gentle moan, followed by the swishing of bed sheets as they slip across the mattress.

He can't get close enough to her. He has an arm around her waist and is leaning on the other one. Her legs are up and wrapped around him, her hands are on his chest. She can't see his face. She can only discern his silhouette in the dimness. He's thrown his head back. She can hear him panting; can see that his mouth is open. She's whimpering softly. "Don't stop, Albert…"

"No…"

"Please…"

"I won't…"

On the streets below, a Mercedes barely misses hitting a BMW; there's a blast of car horns and muted cursing. Rebecca still doesn't know where she is exactly, but it has to be somewhere in the downtown core. 'The Business District' they call it, the kind of area where people work at jobs that require security I.D. Everyone in power suits and crisp white shirts. Deals are being made, everything is a gamble. There's no chance of bumping into him on the street, ever. His apartment is on the second floor of the penthouse, so he doesn't have to leave.

She listens to the noises he makes as he fucks her. Sometimes they're light and breathless, other times they're raspy, ragged, desperate. Every so often, when he thrusts inside her, he punctuates his movement with a feral grunt. He's usually so austere; the sound reminds her that beneath it all he's still a man. Every time they do this he slips a little bit more, reveals more of himself. But the light is always faint.

The first time they were together this way it was sweet, surprisingly sweet, and slow. There was more time for kissing, licking earlobes, nibbling at nipples and soft flesh. She giggled more, teased him more by calling him 'Captain'. He went down on her every time, swirled his tongue around her clit, inhaled her scent. He held her up against him, loved it when she was on top so his hands could roam over her breasts, over her graceful back. There was more time for worship.

The occasion is coming to an end.

There's no time for more.

He releases her from his grip and sits up between her legs. He puts a hand on each of her knees and presses them against him. He's steadily plunging inside her. His shadowed figure leans back. She hears him suck his breath in through his teeth and hold it, then release it in a grateful exhale. "Harder…" she murmurs. He obliges. She loves the power he has over her at this moment, the control. "Oh God… Harder…" They've talked about this before. She's wet, and no matter what he does it won't hurt as much as she wants it to. She's ashamed to admit it, but it's true.

"I can't see you," she pants.

"No?" he asks, when he knows full well she can't.

"No…"

"Pity," he goads.

"I want to look at you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He laughs lightly.

"Beg me."

She's been here for weeks, but it still feels like the first night, like this whole episode has only lasted a couple of hours. Every memory he has of her has blended into one fantastic spell. He loves how young she's remained, even after all these years. He loves her rosy skin, the peach fuzz on her cheeks, her big bright eyes. All candy and innocence, no matter what she says to him; there's something about her lack of guile that makes her seem that way. But she's said things to him in this last little while, wise things, dirty things, that he never thought her capable of saying when he first met her. She always hits the nail on the head. She drives him crazy.

"Don't make me beg, Albert…" she gasps, a trace of a smile in her voice.

"No?"

"No…"

"But I love it when you beg."

"No."

"You're so good at it."

He drives himself deeper. She yelps.

"Please…"

"Yeah… say it again…"

"Please…"

Rebecca reaches up to touch his face, knowing full well she can't reach him. She can see the defined muscles of his arms in his darkened profile. He grabs hold of her wrists and holds them in front of her. If she squeezes her hands into fists he'll assume she's given up. She spreads her fingers out as if she wants to claw his chest. He leans into her, pinning her to the bed, and starts grinding his hips against her. She can't stand that he's ignoring her request. So she decides to test his patience.

"Villain…"

"What?"

"Villain," she says through clenched teeth. "You're a villain."

"Don't call me that," he growls.

"No?"

She can tell he's smiling.

"You want to look at me, huh?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Yeah?"

"Now."

"Alright," he says. "Alright."

He pulls out roughly and slides off the bed, then grabs her wrist and yanks her to her feet. When she's standing he stoops and puts his arm around her hips, lifting her off the floor. She gasps when he sinks himself inside her again. She's never slept with anyone so strong before. She wraps her legs around him. In a moment her back is against the window. The glass is cold, her skin is damp and slippery. She struggles to be released but he's restraining her, thrusting urgently. Blue and yellow light plays off his shoulders, chest, legs, face. She can finally see him. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth is open. He's tilted his head to one side and he's panting.

"Open your eyes," she pleads.

"No."

"Please, Albert…"

"No."

"Please…"

"I said no."

Rebecca runs her nails down his back, leaving dark red streaks behind. She's very close. "Oh fuck!"

"Are you gonna come?"

"Yes!"

He feels his entire body flush hot.

"That's it…"

"Don't stop, Albert, please!" She sounds like she's going to cry.

"I won't…"

There's a moment, just before, when everything is suppliant, full of need. When she breaks free of it, she spills over the edge. He can feel her seizing up just before she cries out for him. Then it's waves, torrents, warmth, all over him. And he can't stand it anymore either.

Eruption, bucking, gasping; white knuckles, arched backs, tossed heads, nails in flesh, bitten fingers, shushes, sighs. Hands smoothed over hair, swollen lips kissed, heartbeats.

"Don't leave me, Rebecca…"

"Albert…"

"Please…"

 **Four**

Claire has tried to call Leon twice.

The first time she got his answering machine and didn't want to leave a message. The second time he was there and picked up, but she hung up quickly after his hello.

I have to stop this. I'm acting like a stalker.

There's a good reason for Claire to be calling Leon. The paperwork she had to slog through just to have access to his phone number was incredible; after all that red tape, she thought she'd have no problem contacting him. But, for some reason, it's not easy.

She's excited.

It's a big mission, and she needs the best, and he's one of the best, but she can't help but blush and smile. She's missed him. If she calls him when she sounds ecstatic it will undermine the ultimately serious nature of the mission. So she's waiting until she calms down.

It's taking forever.

Jill is sitting in the facility lounge. She's propping her head up with her hand and staring off into space. A minute ago she was flipping through a fashion magazine. She had just finished taking a quiz entitled "Are you too good for him?" when she decided she felt like an asshole and tossed it into the trash. There's no need for serious reading material to be available at all times, of course, but she draws the line at stuff that makes her feel dumber after she reads it. Her eyes are getting heavier. She hasn't been sleeping well lately.

The door to the lounge opens. The sound startles her. She looks up.

Chris Redfield is standing there.

She smiles at him. "They got you too, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah… I've been expecting it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yup."

Jill stands up as Chris walks over to her. He's as rugged and handsome as ever. He bends down a little to kiss her on the cheek, then wraps her in his arms and gives her a long, intimate hug. "How're you doing, babe?"

"I'm good," Jill says. Her voice is muffled by his shoulder. "It's good to see you."

"Yeah," he agrees, releasing her. "Where's the hat?"

"I'm not wearing the hat," she says. "I've decided I hate hats."

"I liked that hat."

"Well, tough shit."

"Fine, fuck you."

"What do you drive these days?"

"Sweet motorbike. You? Some shit box?"

"Only the finest shit box for me."

"Fuck yeah!"

Claire's hands are cold and clammy. She's staring at the phone on her desk. Everything is neatly arranged, stacked, filed. That's not usually the case. It took her two hours to organize everything. The tidying was an excuse not to call Leon.

Rebecca sticks her head in Claire's office. "Hi!"

"Hi."

"What's up?"

"I finally got everything all cleaned up," Claire says, nodding.

"Nice," Rebecca acknowledges.

"Yes, yes," Claire continues slowly, deliberately. "Nice and neat."

"Have you called Leon yet?"

Claire looks up at her and heaves a heavy sigh. Rebecca knows what that means. "Don't worry," she tells her.

"I'm not worried."

"You're happy."

Claire nods.

"I am. Too happy."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I shouldn't be happy about this."

"Well, what, are you supposed to be miserable?"

"This is serious."

"No one's saying it isn't."

"I'm not supposed to be happy," Claire groans.

"But it's Leon!" Rebecca says with a wide grin. "Leon's awesome!"

Claire takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out again.

"Yeah."

"Call him," Rebecca says as she's leaving.

"I will."

"Call him!"

"How'd you get here?" Jill asks Chris. He's washing his hands in the sink. There are no more paper towels, so he wipes them on his jeans.

"I took the 405. Some dude was tailgating me for, like, two miles. Fuckin' moron."

"Did you get a call?"

"Sort of. Claire told me about it. What about you?"

"Claire told me too. You know who's upstairs? Rebecca Chambers."

Chris smiles.

"Fuck off! Really?"

"Yep."

He pokes each cheek with an index finger.

"Rebecca Chambers! What is she now, like, twelve?"

"No way, she's hardcore now."

"Yeah? What's her position?"

"Alpha Medic," Jill tells him.

"Yeah, she's a smart cookie. I'll be worried when she's old enough to vote."

"She's twenty-seven."

"No, see, never."

Claire is holding the phone too tightly with her left hand. She's listening to the steady, inviting sound of the ring tone. After four rings, a voice comes over the receiver. "Hello?"

"Leon?"

"Yeah!"

"Leon… it's Claire Redfield."

There's a pause.

"Hey Claire," Leon says.

 _He's not happy to hear from me_ , she thinks.

"Hey, how are you?"

"I'm doing well."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Nice."

"What about you?"

"I'm doing okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, pretty good."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

Another moment of silence. "So what's up?" he asks.

"I've got a favour to ask you."

"Oh yeah?"

"It's… um, it's a mission, and I've got to put together a team, and… I know you're…"

"How'd you get this number?" he interrupts.

Claire's heart stops. Yeah, he hates me right now.

"Um…"

"It doesn't really matter, I was just curious."

"Well, it took a long time, I had to get permission…"

"That must've sucked, huh? I hate dealing with those guys," he chuckles.

"Yeah, yeah, they're not very social," Claire laughs.

He may be laughing, but he still hates me.

"So you've got a mission?"

"Yeah."

"What kind of mission?"

"You want to help me take out Umbrella?"

She hears him take a deep breath. For a moment she's terrified.

"You know it."

"Got a pen?"

"Gimme a sec… yeah, go ahead."

When the conversation is over, Claire hangs up and puts a hand over her face. She knows her cheeks are going to be sore in a minute.

 **Five**

Rebecca thinks she's made a mistake.

She's following him through an elaborate maze of hallways. They must be underground; it's damp and musty, the way a subway smells. Cloudy puddles of water have accumulated; the result of exposed plumbing. The fluorescent lighting casts a greenish tint on his back, his hair, and everything they pass. They've been walking for a while. She's trying to keep up with him. He won't slow down and he won't turn around.

It seems like the confrontation took place hours ago. Time has a habit of slowing down after such events. She can't get the image of their anxious faces out of her head. Chris' glare was the most sobering. At the time it seemed the noblest thing to do; to offer herself as proxy until everything was over. Now that she has time to think about it, as they have been walking silently for about half an hour, she realizes how difficult it must have been, for him in particular, to see her do this. 'Noble' doesn't seem to be the correct word.

This was selfish of me, wasn't it?

They round a corner. Up ahead, five men are standing in the way. She catches the tail end of their smutty conversation before they start roaring with laughter. She sees that they're heavily armed. The closer they get, the riper the air becomes with their funk. Rebecca can taste the bile rising in the back of her throat. She tries to hold her breath as much as possible. The gang finally notices their approach. The moment they catch sight of him, they're quiet. They quickly move out of the way and stand with their backs against the wall. She's stunned; they're terrified of him, even though he's unarmed. He doesn't acknowledge them as he passes.

Rebecca doesn't know where she's going exactly; only that she can't leave once she gets there. She's preparing herself for the worst. No doubt it's a research facility, considering her host, of some kind. It won't be comfortable. Her experience with those types of places tells her there will be many locked doors, many white laboratory coats.

And screaming.

There's always screaming in places like that.

She's getting winded from following him. His walk is brisk and steady; his movements are so deliberate that, she's certain, it's impossible for him to get lost in this labyrinth. He walks around corners without waiting for her to catch up. There's more incentive to stay with him than the smell and the mice; she doesn't want to run into anymore men like the ones they passed. The weaponry tells her they're here on orders. She doesn't want to know what their orders are.

She slips on a slimy bit of concrete and nearly wipes out. He hears her yelp as she knocks into one of the pipes. He stops abruptly and turns around. As she's regaining her footing, he says to her, in a very controlled, low voice, "Don't slip." She gets a look at his face for the first time in a while. Even beneath the sunglasses, she can see he hasn't aged.

"Sorry," she mutters.

He doesn't concede her apology. Instead, he continues walking.

She didn't expect him to be congenial, of course.

Anything that happens… I shouldn't be surprised.

Rebecca feels guilty that she volunteered. She figured that the team's chances of survival would suffer if anyone other than herself was detained. There's no way they can make it without Chris or Jill or Leon. And Claire is their Captain. Rebecca is the only one left who isn't handy with a gun. She can shoot well enough, but her main position is Alpha Medic. She's supposed to patch them up if they're wounded and keep them going. Just like in war; run behind the soldiers and pick up their guns as they fall. She felt that, as they are so good at what they do, they'd be able to take care of themselves.

But she can't get over how Chris looked at her; as if she was shaking hands with the devil.

There's no such thing as altruism.

Rebecca can see a large door at the end of the hallway. She notices that this seems to be his destination. She's preparing herself, but the closer they get, the weaker her knees become. She's starting to shake. He pulls a set of keys out of his jacket pocket. Their jangling echoes throughout the corridors, the ringing amplified in her ears. Suddenly, she stops walking.

He halts in front of the door when he notices her footsteps have ceased and turns around. The color has drained from her face. She's holding onto the wall with one hand, leaning slightly forward. It's clear she's feeling ill. She puts a hand over her mouth and closes her eyes. He stays where he is and watches her. Her breath starts to quicken. "Calm down, Miss Chambers," he says in the same reserved tone as before.

She doesn't.

"Calm down," he repeats. "Miss Chambers? Miss Chambers? Calm down, now."

Why doesn't he shut the fuck up? He's making it worse.

Rebecca leans against the wall, both hands over her mouth now. He starts to move towards her when she turns to him. "Get away from me, I'm fine!" she snarls. "I just need a minute!" He stops. She closes her eyes and tries to breathe normally. She apologizes to everyone in her head. After a moment she straightens up and looks him square in the face.

Don't let him think you're weak.

He's not impressed. He turns around and unlocks the door, revealing a stairwell.

"Follow me."

They climb the stairs and reach the main floor landing. Another key is used to unlock this second door. When they step through it, they are in a grand building lobby. There's a clerk sitting behind the large front desk. He's fairly young, and bored. "Goodnight, Mr. Wesker," he says in a voice that suggests rehearsal. Rebecca's host doesn't speak to him. Instead he uses another key to call one of the executive elevators. When it arrives, they step inside. He uses a fourth key to gain access to the floor marked "penthouse".

The walls of the elevator are mirrored. No matter where she looks, Rebecca can glimpse him. She tries to occupy her mind by thinking of superficial things. The last time she saw him he was wearing his S.T.A.R.S. uniform. Tonight he's wearing a suit. She didn't think he was the type to wear anything tailored so finely. And she thinks, but can't be sure, that he's wearing a scent of some kind, something spicy. Aesthetically he's very different from the man she met almost a decade ago. His demeanour has remained the same.

There was, however, one time when he seemed, for Rebecca's lack of a better word, warm.

But she pushes the memory out of her head.

The elevator arrives on the penthouse floor. The doors open directly into an office. One entire wall is comprised of floor-to-ceiling windows. A marvellous desk is in front of them. The furniture is sleek and modern. She can see a staircase leading to the second floor. He walks ahead of her. "The bathroom is upstairs and to your right, next to the bedroom. If you're hungry I'll have something sent up to you. The bed is yours while you're here." He walks across the room to the desk and sits down.

Rebecca remains where she is.

"I'm staying here?"

"Yes."

"What is this place?"

"What does it look like?"

"Your office."

"That's what it is."

"You have a bedroom in your office?"

"On the second floor."

"It must be tiring being a villain, I guess," she quips.

He glares at her.

"Don't call me that," he says steadily.

She's scared, but pretends not to be.

"You sleep up there?"

"I live here."

His comment startles her.

"You brought me to where you live?" she asks, outraged.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Anywhere but where you live!"

"Heroes can't be choosers, Miss Chambers."

I deserved that.

"You're my responsibility until your team mates fulfill their end of the bargain," he tells her.

"This is bullshit!"

"Would you prefer it if I locked you up somewhere?" he asks, his temper rising.

"I'd prefer to be any place you haven't made yourself comfortable in! Maybe one of the cells you reserve for whoever you happen to be torturing at any given moment!"

She feels a gust of wind on her face, hears what sounds like a blade slicing through the air, like a guillotine falling. She doesn't know how he's done it, but in a split second he's standing in front of her, his mouth set in an angry line.

That's it, I'm dead, is the last thing she thinks before she faints.


	2. Chapter 2

**Six**

Jill is sitting in the surveillance room of the facility, staring at an ancient black and white monitor. The more DVDs she reviews, the more frustrated she gets with the blurry pictures. The organization hasn't bothered to provide them with the latest audio/visual equipment. She can actually hear the laser skimming the disks as she watches them. The equipment sits on flimsy metal tables that have legs that fold out and lock in place. They have to be very careful when they walk by or they'll knock something over.

Jill is fighting to stay awake. Somehow she thought this task would be infinitely more exciting than it is. But Umbrella was careful, it seems. Everything she has seen on the disks so far is rudimentary research stuff. Nothing interesting at all. None of the terms the employees use make any sense to her. She's supposed to make a note of anything that sounds suspicious, but it all sounds suspicious to her, so she stopped. Now the page on the table in front of her is covered in squiggly lines and doodles, and her eyelids are growing heavier.

That all changes when Chris walks in.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," she answers in a tone that tells him she's fighting ennui.

"Easy job, huh?" he smiles. "Sorting through this shit."

"Fuckin' piece of cake," she answers.

He moves to sit next to her but, in the process, accidentally jostles one of the tables. Startled, he holds his hands out to stop the potential catastrophe. When the wobbling ceases, he points at it angrily with both fingers.

"I hate these tables! I hate them! I want them to die!"

"What are you, casting a spell? You're Harry Potter now?"

"'Cause it's bullshit!" he exclaims as he takes a seat. "How much money do you think these guys make, huh? You'd think they could go to Ikea or something and pick up some decent tables that don't want to fall the fuck over whenever someone farts."

"Since when does anything from Ikea last?"

"Whatever. This whole thing will all fall apart in five years anyway so it won't make a difference."

"What, these guys?"

"Yeah."

"Why do you say that?"

Chris looks at her.

"Why wouldn't I say that?"

"Oh, so now you're an enigma?"

He reaches out and messes up her hair. She's too tired to fight him. When he's finished she leaves it mussed.

In a moment both Chris and Jill are staring at the monitor. Chris can't make heads or tails of what the researchers are talking about, but he can guess. Eventually his eyes skim over the room. The green paint is peeling off the walls. There's a large cobweb in one corner; a housefly's drained carcass is still caught in it. Two of the fluorescent lights overhead have burned out.

And Jill still won't talk about what happened all those years ago.

The image on the monitor freezes up. Jill knows it has something to do with the noises the DVD player is making. She's cranky and frustrated, so she slams on it with an open palm. "Nothing in this place works!" she huffs. "Nothing! The microwave stopped working, the photocopier is older than God, the stupid lights are out, now the fucking player is toast! This sucks!" Chris watches her bang on the player again with increasing concern.

"I know. This whole place is going to hell."

"Like, why don't they buy us some decent stuff to use? You know? I've been staring at this stupid TV for days and none of it is making any sense, and nothing works, and there's nothing I can do about it because if I ask for some new equipment I've got to wait fucking six weeks for it to arrive anyway, and whoever the boss is doesn't think we need it, and I'm so fucking exhausted..!"

Jill is close to tears. Chris runs his hand up and down her back to console her.

"I know."

"I'm sick of this bullshit!"

"I know, I know."

"Like, what am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing, there's nothing you can do."

His hand slows. She likes the way it feels against her shirt.

"Every time I get involved in something like this… you know, like, 'Take out the bad guys, Jill', it's always the same. No one tells me anything, and nothing gets done, and then we all look like shit for a while until we go in and save everybody's asses, and then they ship us off someplace else where the stupid DVD player doesn't work."

"I know."

He strokes her back while she calms down. Eventually she turns the machine off and on again. When she presses 'play' it runs normally again.

"So have you figured anything out yet?" Chris asks her.

"Not really. It's all a fucking blur now. There are only two things that bug me. Look at this."

She swaps one disk for another and begins playing it. The image on the screen is of two very young men, both Umbrella researchers. "Recognize them?"

Chris squints.

"Fuck off! Is that Wesker?"

"Yep, that's him."

"Holy shit! What year is this?"

"1982."

"Christ, lookit how young he is!"

"Hunk transferred all these videotapes onto disk for me. They're grainy alright, but you can still tell it's Wesker. Recognize the other one?"

"That can't be William Birkin."

"Yeah it is."

"Couple of scrawny bastards back then, huh?"

He shivers.

"I know. Scrawny was in back then, I guess. But this is what bothers me. This is apparently the main room they did all their work in. That camera was on all the time, twenty-four hours a day. And the tapes go all the way back to when the Spencer mansion was first used as the facility. They were state of the art."

"That's how our building looks now," he says. Jill smiles.

"I know. Anyway, I've gone through every tape from 1978 until 1983. Every room was monitored. Everything was recorded. But… there's a period of six hours missing from this room. Hours and hours of surveillance, from both the Arklay Facility and the Spencer mansion, but sixof themhave disappeared."

Chris' eyebrows knot together.

"He probably destroyed it," Chris says. "Knowing Wesker. He wouldn't want something like that getting out."

"Why would he destroy that tape and not the others?"

"Because he's a psychopath?" Chris offers. "It probably incriminates him."

"All these disks incriminate him," Jill says. "Why that one in particular?"

"Who knows?"

"We need to find that tape," Jill says.

"If you think it's important. What else?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said two things bug you."

"Yeah…" She skips ahead on the disk. "Listen carefully to what they're saying here."

They stare intently at the screen.

 _William Birkin is standing behind Albert, watching him as he peers through a microscope. "Did you get anything?" he asks._

 _"Not yet," Albert replies._

 _"Fascinating, isn't it?"_

 _"Yeah, it's pretty neato."_

 _"Jeez, Albert, no one says 'neato'!" William laughs._

 _Albert doesn't respond. William leans over further, lays a hand on his shoulder. "Don't waste the sample. Here," he says, pulling a syringe from his coat pocket. When Albert catches sight of it, he flinches and pushes away from the table. "What?" William asks._

 _"Don't freak me out like that, Will."_

 _"Like what?"_

 _"Like, don't just pull a needle out and wave it at me."_

 _"I wasn't waving it at you, I'm collecting the rest of the sample!"_

 _"Well, just… warn me next time, okay?"_

 _"Why?"_

 _"'Cause I hate needles."_

 _"You're a scientist and you hate needles?" William is exasperated._

 _"I just… they make me nervous, okay?"_

 _"You use needles all the time, Albert!"_

 _"It was just… it was close to my face…"_

 _"Alright, relax! Jeez!"_

 _William shakes his head. Albert nervously runs a hand through his hair. "So what are your plans for tonight?" William asks._

Jill stops the disk.

"Aw, man, I wanted to see what those crazy kids were up to back in '82," Chris jokes.

"What do you think?" Jill asks.

"That they were nerds. I don't know. What?"

"I watched this thing over and over, and it always kind of stuck out as odd."

"What's odd about it?"

"You don't think it's odd that Albert Wesker was afraid of needles?"

They look at each other.

 **Seven**

He noticed it the other day. Rebecca was curled up on the chaise, drifting off to sleep. She's been sleeping a lot. He suspects it's because there isn't much in the penthouse that appeals to her. He can't blame her. He wonders why she hasn't looked in the wall unit yet. She doesn't know she can pick a movie to watch, or choose a CD to listen to. She's still afraid of him. As she should be.

That day, when he heard her breathing gently as she was dozing, he decided to take a closer look at her. He's kept his distance since the night she first came. There's too much at stake to have her drop dead of a heart attack. He crossed the room to where she was lying and peered over the back of the chair. Her lips were parted, her eyes lightly closed, her hands up near her face. He took his sunglasses off and leaned forward, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. That's when he felt it.

A heartbeat.

His heartbeat.

At the time he shrunk back, not wanting to believe what he had felt. But when he leaned over again and saw her napping soundly, when she moved her hand and sighed in her sleep, there it was.

It was slow, and not very strong, but it was definitely there.

He walked back to his desk and picked up where he left off, eventually forgetting about it. Rebecca woke after an hour, sat up, leaned her head on the back of the chaise, and stared out the window. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She didn't move for hours. He wondered what she was thinking. That night, when she had retired to the bedroom, he saw the sweater she normally wore over her t-shirt sticking out from the seat cushion. Deciding it was best to hang it on the bedroom doorknob, he pulled it from beneath the cushion. And just because she wasn't there, she wasn't looking, he brought it close to his face and smelled it. The sweet scent of her body was still there.

Heartbeat.

He hasn't returned the sweater yet. It's in the bottom drawer of his desk. Rebecca knows that he's taken it, but she doesn't want ask him to give it back. She's sitting on the steps that lead up to the second floor, staring off as usual. He notices she's shivering. Without looking at her, he says, "Is there anything you'd like?"

"What?"

"Is there anything you'd like?"

"What do you mean?"

"I was just inquiring."

"I don't want anything."

"Alright."

Hours go by. Rebecca sits in different places all around the office, as if she were a cat. Her expression never changes. At one point, when he raises his eyes for a moment, he sees that she's watching him intently. He waits to see if she says anything. "Do you want something?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You're looking at me."

"I've looked at everything else here. I might as well look at you too."

She doesn't sound happy about it.

"Carry on, then, if it suits you."

"What do you do all day, Captain?"

She doesn't know why she called him that. He smirks.

"I'm not your Captain anymore, Miss Chambers."

"Do you sit around and sign death warrants?"

"Don't try me."

"You can't hurt me."

"Yes I can."

The day wears on, afternoon dissolving into evening. At eleven o'clock, Rebecca mounts the steps and retires to his bedroom. When he's certain she's in for the night, he opens the bottom drawer of his desk and takes out the sweater. He lays it on his desk while he removes his gloves, then picks it up and feels the soft wool with his fingertips. As he's touching it, it starts again. This time, he doesn't put the sweater down. He brings it to his cheek to see how it feels against his skin. He can faintly smell traces of her perfume mixed with her natural scent on the garment.

With one long, deep inhale, he realizes something.

Shit… this can't be happening…

Still holding the sweater, he pushes away from his desk and climbs the stairs to the second floor. He locks himself in the bathroom. He places both his hands on the edge of the counter and looks at himself in the mirror.

This can't be happening.

He takes his sunglasses off. Everything about him looks the same as it always does, but for two major differences.

The first is his heart is beating.

The second is he's getting hard.

He knows he'll have to be quiet. Rebecca is asleep in the next room. She might hear him. He won't be able to explain himself. He sits down on the cold tiled floor and leans against the bathtub. He unbuckles his belt, slides his hand over himself.

Shit…

He reaches into his pants and wraps his hand around himself. He's stiffening.

Oh shit…

In a moment, he's stroking himself.

Images are dancing in his head. He has her in many different ways; standing in front of him in shorts, in a skirt, with a bra, without one. High heels, bare feet, stockings, something lacy… something that feels good when it rubs against his chest. Something black.

She would purr…

He squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out the track lighting and tiles, the toilet seat, and thinks of her kisses, her lips, her breasts, her ass; claiming them for himself. He had forgotten how good this used to feel, didn't think he was capable of it anymore. But the more he hears her voice in his head, the closer he is to coming. He bites his lip to keep from moaning, reaches up and opens the top two buttons of his shirt. He's sweating.

Shit… she'd call my name out… or she'd whisper it…

He pictures her looking at him with big, beautiful eyes, soft spoken as the day he first met her, and open, eager for him to please her.

She'd whimper… she'd beg me… I won't hurt her… I'd never hurt her…

He arches his back and comes; a desperate, searing orgasm.

When he stands, his legs are weak. He picks the sweater up off the floor and holds it close. He turns his head and catches his reflection in the mirror.

For a minute, he could have sworn his eyes were blue again.

She'd think I was sick. Completely fucking sick.

She'd be right.

 **Eight**

"When you're a ward of the state," he begins, "it means the state is responsible for your well-being. They're your legal guardians; they're the ones that feed you, clothe you, educate you, and try to raise you to be a decent citizen. 'Try' being the key verb. So when I first arrived in the U.S. I was made a ward of the state because no one had come forward to adopt me." He smooths his hand over Rebecca's hair. She nuzzles his chest with her cheek and continues to listen. "Though I suspect it had something more to do with Spencer's knowledge of who I was at the time. Anyway," he groans and shifts his position against the headboard, "when I first got here I didn't speak any English and I was really pale. The other kids used to call me Kraut."

"What does that mean? Is that racist?"

He chuckles.

"Not really. It's slang for 'German'."

"That's not very nice," Rebecca murmurs.

"And they used to pronounce their 'W's like 'V's when I was around. One kid kept on asking me if I wanted chocolate. Every day. He thought it was really funny."

"Stupid kid."

"Mmmm…"

He kisses the top of her head. "Funny thing was, he was the fat kid, not me."

"Kids are stupid."

"I agree. But it wasn't so bad. I just kept to myself mostly."

"Did you have any friends?"

"No."

"None?"

"No."

"Wasn't there anyone you could talk to?"

He sighs.

"There was a woman who used to take care of me. She left when I was twelve."

"What was her name?"

"Eunice Johnson. I used to call her Ma'am Eunice."

Rebecca smiles.

"Do it again."

"No."

"Come on!"

He smiles and shakes his head.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I worked very hard to get rid of that accent," he tells her.

"Just once more."

"Nope."

She pouts. He decides to keep going, just to tease her.

"She used to say this thing to me over and over again every time I did something I should have known not to do. Every time I did something stupid."

"What was it?"

She looks up at him and waits. His eyes are closed. He continues to grin. "Come on!" she says.

"Alright. She used to say," he takes a deep breath, then starts to speak with a crisp, Southern drawl, "'Albert, you maybe ain't got no head full of brains, but boy have you got pretty.'"

Rebecca starts giggling.

"I can't believe that!"

"It's true."

She laughs, wrapping her arms around him. He holds her close.

"Why did she leave?"

"She got fired."

"For what?"

"I don't know," he says softly. Rebecca catches sight of their reflections in his dresser mirror. His face has darkened.

"Were you upset?"

"Oh yes. I cried for days."

Rebecca's heart stops when he says the word.

"You cried?"

"Mm-hmm."

She strokes his collarbone with her fingers. For a moment, they're quiet.

"Albert?"

"Yes?"

"Are you telling me the truth?"

He doesn't say anything.

"I don't expect you to believe anything I say," he answers finally.

"I want to believe you."

"Then believe me."

"You tried to kill me once."

"Yes, I did," he admits.

"Why?"

"I can't answer that."

Rebecca lays her hand on his chest.

"I'm afraid of you," she tells him.

"I know."

He caresses the nape of her neck.

"Not for what you might do to me, though. For what you've done."

"I understand."

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Inject yourself."

Her questions are piercing.

"I don't remember… why… what my reasons were back then. My reasons have changed."

"What are your reasons?"

"I like the power."

"That much?"

"Yes."

"Did it hurt?"

"I can't remember…"

She closes her eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yeah. I just… don't…"

"Rebecca," he murmurs.

"Yeah?"

"There are many things I can't explain to you. But you've made me… you make me very happy. I want this to last. I don't deserve you to be considerate of that, I know. But I'm asking you… just let me hold you."

"Okay."

They lie together. She can hear his heartbeat. Of course, she breaks the silence. "Albert?"

"Yes?"

"Let me see your eyes."

They've remained closed. He heaves a heavy sigh.

"Why?" he asks.

"Because they're yours."

He knows he can't keep this from her forever. Slowly, cautiously, he opens his eyes and looks at her. She gazes deeply into the golden, cat-like irises, the menacing red rings. "You kept your eyes closed the whole time," she says.

"Yes."

"Don't you want to look at me?"

"Very much."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because if I did, you wouldn't believe me."

 **Nine**

From where he is kneeling, with his hands behind his head, Leon can see Jill and Chris, but not Claire or Rebecca. He has an itch; if he moves to scratch it he might get his head blown off. He remembers a lesson he learned when he was younger. An itch is technically pain, albeit a light pain, since it's registered by the same neurons in the brain.

If I move, I'm going to be really, really itchy.

He's proud of the thought, though it's not the time or the place to share it with anyone.

They've been kneeling on the concrete floor of the warehouse for fifteen minutes. Everyone was told to put their hands behind their heads. Their weapons were taken away. Every member of the team is flanked by an armed soldier. The soldiers wear gas masks; each is pointing a gun at their captive's head. No one is facing each other. Leon can see his breath when he exhales. He doesn't know what's going to happen.

Chris can see Jill, Claire, and Leon, but not Rebecca. He regrets throwing his jacket away now. He didn't think he'd need it from all the running they were doing. Now that he's forced to kneel in one place, he's shivering. He raises his eyes and glares at the soldiers. He's angry because he can't see their faces, though even if he could it wouldn't change their situation. Chris always seems to think in terms of revenge. He's not aware of it, but he's grinding his teeth.

Out of the corner of her eye, Claire can see Chris and Jill, but not Leon or Rebecca. She's trying to think of ways to get them out of this situation. She's berating herself for getting them caught. As their Captain, she thought they should abort the mission and leave through the warehouse. It was obvious they were on the wrong trail. She should have known not to leave through the largest exit. There are always barrels and crates lying around in places like this. They were surrounded, ambushed. She didn't think this through. She's afraid Leon is disappointed in her.

Jill can only see Claire kneeling in front of her. She's thinking of all the different ways they could have completed this mission. Different routes they could have taken through the complex. The more she thinks about it, the more she feels she should have been listened to. But Claire is their Captain, and she's the one who's supposed to make decisions like that. Jill recalls her training, goes through everything she's ever learned about dangerous missions like this in her head. She can't believe Claire has fucked it up so badly. The more she thinks about Claire, the easier it is to forget her own guilt in the matter. Right now, Jill would rather blame someone else.

The heavy metal door of the warehouse opens with a loud clang. They hear determined footsteps echoing on the hard floor, the sound of expensive shoes. Chris and Claire meet each others' eyes. Whoever was walking is now standing fifty feet away from them. It's quiet for a moment. Then a soft, cold voice speaks. "Hello."

Though they can't see him, they know who he is.

"Shoulda known it was you, Wesker," Chris sneers.

"A little too late, it would seem, Redfield," Wesker replies.

"What do you want?" Claire asks.

"It seems we're playing on the same team this time. I know why you're here. I'm here for the same reason."

"How do you know what our reasons are, Wesker?" she demands.

"I have my sources."

Leon grits his teeth. He knows who Wesker's "source" is. "In any case," he continues, "I have a proposition for you."

"We're not interested."

"I think you are. We all want the same things now. An end to Umbrella."

"You were trying to re-establish Umbrella not too long ago," Leon growls.

"I wonder who told you that," Wesker purrs.

Leon doesn't say anything.

"What are you asking us, and why are you asking?" Claire wants to know.

"I'm feeling nostalgic," he says. "I was remembering how efficient S.T.A.R.S. was all those years ago. And no doubt, if you've all gotten this far, how efficient you still are. It will take an elite force to penetrate Umbrella. With the right information, you'd be unstoppable."

"Thanks for the compliment," Chris scoffs, "but I don't think we need your help to take them out."

"Is that so? You haven't been successful so far."

"Neither have you," Claire says flatly.

"Yes I have."

A chilly silence descends on the group. Claire wants to look at Wesker, to see if she's still afraid.

"I've asked you what you want," she points out.

"And I've already told you what I want. I know your organization has sent you to destroy Umbrella's main database."

Their hearts leap up into their throats. There's no way he should know what their mission is. "Quite a heady task, I think."

"You know we're capable of it."

"I do, yes. But a mission like that can take a year, maybe two to complete."

"We're not in a hurry," Chris lets him know.

"You should be, Redfield."

"What do you know?" Claire asks.

"I'm not free to discuss what Umbrella has planned, unfortunately. I can only tell you that, like their other nefarious operations, it's very big, and very dangerous."

"What's your offer?"

"I know Umbrella. I know everything they've done and everything they plan to do. I know layouts of the facilities, the number of staff, security codes… everything. I'll give you all the information you need."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?" Jill pipes up. "I don't believe it."

"Partially," Wesker answers her. "Partially because I'm impatient. With the information I possess your mission can be completed in four, maybe six weeks. I won't tell you how to run things. That's not my concern."

"You'll give us this information?"

"Yes."

"It's a trap, it has to be," Chris hisses.

"What's the catch?"

"That you don't leave a single trace of anything behind. If you're going to destroy it, I want it all gone. All of it."

"I think that goes without saying," Claire huffs.

"It has to be said, unfortunately. If I don't give you the knowledge you need you might overlook something."

"Given our welcome, Wesker, something tells me you want more than that."

He looks at the soldiers.

"Yes. The information I possess is highly sensitive. I don't want it getting into the wrong hands. The hands of the officials you work for, to be exact. They can't know this conversation took place, and they can't know you have access to it. Therefore, I require one of you to stay behind until the mission is complete."

"No way!" Leon barks.

"You don't have much of a choice, Kennedy."

The soldier standing nearest to Leon butts him in the face with his rifle. His eye immediately starts to swell.

"How do you expect us to do what you want when one of us has to stay here?" Jill demands.

"That's not my concern. I'm sure you'll be able to handle it."

"Claire…" Chris whispers.

His attempt to speak to his sister is met with the quick slice of a large hunting knife. Chris' arm is left bleeding.

"That's my offer. It's a good one. You should consider it."

Claire's mind begins to race. There's little she can do at this point. He's made it clear that he won't take no for an answer. He's also made it clear that one person is to remain whether they like it or not. If he was planning on getting them all killed, why not let them all go? It's obvious the status of this mission, a mission given to them straight from the officials themselves, is of the utmost importance to him. She is about to appoint Jill Captain in her absence when someone else speaks. "I'll go."

Wesker is confused. From where he is standing, he can see Claire, Jill, Chris, and Leon.

But not Rebecca.

Wesker watches her as she gets to her feet and stands up. Leon's body was blocking her from his view. Now that he sees her, he frowns.

"I'm sorry, Miss Chambers. I can't accept you."

"Yes you can," she tells him.

"Rebecca, what are you doing?" Chris spits.

"It's alright, Chris."

"I won't allow it, Miss Chambers."

"Villains can't be choosers," she says angrily.

"Rebecca…" Claire begins.

"Claire…" Rebecca is about to move to speak to her when the soldier raises his gun.

"If you shoot her, I'll kill you," Wesker snarls. The soldier lowers his weapon. Rebecca reaches Claire. She kneels in front of her.

"You know what my position is in the team," she says in a low voice. "You're going into very dangerous territory and you're going to need people who can shoot straight, who're good with weapons. If anyone stays behind it should be me. I'll be alright."

Claire looks at Rebecca. No matter how hard she's trying, she knows the medic is scared.

"One condition," Claire calls out to Wesker.

"Name it."

"You have to leave something with us to make sure Rebecca's okay."

"I won't accept Miss Chambers as a candidate."

"You're gonna have to."

Jill is certain Claire is going to fuck this up.

"Alright," he says finally. "What's your condition?"

"I want a vial of your blood."

No one was expecting that. Not even him. For a minute, he's quiet. Then, in his familiar, cool voice, he answers her.

"Leon, toss me your knife."

"I've got needles," Rebecca begins.

"I'd rather not. Besides, it isn't necessary."

Leon slowly pulls his knife from his shoulder, lays it on the floor, and slides it in Wesker's direction. "I'll need an empty vial."

Rebecca reaches into her back pocket and tosses one over to him. Without hesitation, he pulls his black leather glove off his right hand and slices his skin open. Rebecca watches, fascinated and afraid. Wesker squeezes his hand closed, forcing the blood to fall. When the vial is full, he replaces the cap and flings it back to Rebecca. She holds it for a moment, unable to hand it to Claire when she realizes that, in a matter of seconds, his hand has completely healed. "You have a blood oath nothing will happen to her. You also have an oath that you won't be harmed by any of my forces while you complete your mission. Umbrella's forces are a different story. Needless to say, when I return Miss Chambers to you, I want it back. Understood?"

"Agreed," Claire says.

"Come here, Miss Chambers."

Rebecca approaches him. When she's quite near, he turns away from her. She glances in her team's direction. She catches Leon's face, wracked with worry. Jill is trying her best, but Rebecca can tell she's disappointed. Claire gives her a look that tells her not to worry, and that she has a plan.

Chris' expression is one of hurt. Extreme hurt. Slowly, he shakes his head. Rebecca is about to speak when Wesker's voice sounds again.

"You'll be contacted within twenty-four hours." He addresses his men. "Show them out. They're not to be harmed."

The soldiers gesture for the team to rise. They do, their knees sore, their legs shaking. Their captors begin ushering them out of the warehouse. The last to go is Chris, but not before he shoots Rebecca one final, devastating glare. Her heart sinks. Soon, she's standing alone with Wesker. "Follow me," he orders, his voice echoing throughout the empty room. He heads for the door without so much as a glance at her.

 **Ten**

They sent Leon first, because he knew the area.

It's down near the old fishing docks, where the ghost fleet is. Twelve ships, industrial tankers, have been chained together in the water. Leon can make out their looming shapes in the darkness. He can hear the water lapping against their rusting hulls. The ships are so old they're of no use to anyone, so they're here, waiting to be dismantled. Some sort of government action is preventing them from being taken apart. They're in limbo.

Leon is waiting at the appointed location. The one thing he hates most about his job is the cliché he must inevitably act out. Every time he's sent on one of these little missions, he thinks, the crow flies at midnight. The night is cold. He's standing beneath a street lamp, his back against the pole. It's film noir bullshit, but he has to comply.

At any moment, one of Wesker's men will deliver the first of a series of reconnaissance packages. Each package is meant to brief them on some aspect of Umbrella. Wesker won't give them the information all at once, in case something happens. Leon knows the "something" refers to their possible deaths.

He rests his head against the pole. He's tired. He knows someone is coming up behind him. If he moves, he's sure the liaison won't approach for fear he's drawing a weapon. He listens intently to the advancing foot steps. Without warning, someone puts the cold blade of a knife to his throat. "Are you armed?"

Leon's heart skips. It's a woman's voice. He knows who the woman is.

"Yes."

"Don't try anything funny."

"I never do."

He hears a soft laugh. With the blade still pressed against his throat, the woman walks around the pole to face him.

"I took your advice," she says. "You're right. Knives do work better for close encounters."

"I thought you'd show up sooner or later."

"Really? Why's that?"

"You always do."

She smiles at him.

"You know me too well, handsome."

"Sure I do."

"I've come to deliver a present from Wesker," she says, ignoring his weighted comment. She pulls a disk out of her pocket. "Part one of several. It won't be me delivering them all the time. Has to be changed up from time to time. You understand, don't you?"

"All too well," he says.

She steps up close to him. He turns his head and stares off into the darkness. He doesn't want to look her in the eye.

"Miss me?" she asks.

He chuckles, but doesn't answer. "Leon…"

He can hear she's upset by his cool behaviour. It isn't enough.

"Did Wesker give you any instructions?"

"Regarding what?"

"Regarding the mission."

"Some."

"I suppose it's classified."

"No. If you ask me nicely, maybe you can hear it."

They stand beneath the street lamp. Neither of them says anything. "We're on the same side this time, Leon."

"For now. It won't be long before you've got another gun to my head."

"Maybe. It goes with the territory. You'd do the same."

"No I wouldn't. I wouldn't work for a creep like Wesker."

"One of these days," she says, the tension rising in her voice, "you'll have to make the same choices I make. We'll see what you do then."

"Yeah, we'll see."

He can't see it, but her expression softens. She leans into him, nuzzles his ear with her nose. He puts his arm around her waist. The knife is still at his throat. "Don't," he says.

"Don't what?"

"Don't do this."

"You're not stopping me, are you?"

"I can't do this."

"Yes you can."

She parts her lips and catches his earlobe, kissing it softly. "Yes you can. You have my permission."

He squeezes her side, brings her closer.

"I should punch you."

"You'd never hit a woman, Leon. I know you."

She moves her lips down his neck. He tilts his head up, lets them roam, closes his eyes.

"Stop it."

She's not listening to him. "Stop… it…" His voice trails off into a whisper. She doesn't stop. "Don't…" He feels her lips part. She traces his skin with a cool tongue. He can hear the wet noise of her licking his neck. "Don't…" His other arm encircles her. He puts his hand on the back of her head and squeezes her hair. "Stop…"

She pulls away and looks up at him. At first she thinks he'll ignore her, but he doesn't. Instead, he lowers his chin and gazes into her eyes. Their lips meet, then split into a sensual torrent of kisses. "God, Ada…"

"Leon…"

Her voice is gentle. He kisses her again and she moans tenderly. The blade against his throat is hot.

"Why do you do this to me?"

"Leon…"

They stop and catch their breaths. Leon can't forget why he's there.

"What orders did Wesker give you?"

"That under no circumstances are any of you to be harmed."

"Is that the truth?"

"Yes."

"Then why'd you kiss me?"

She laughs.

"Don't be so dramatic, Leon. I didn't know they were sending you. Maybe I would have kissed someone else tonight."

"Somehow I don't think you would have."

She's frozen in his gaze for a moment. Then she backs away and sheaths her knife.

"Time's up, Leon. Gotta run. I'm sure I'll see you again."

"Wait…"

"Bye bye," she calls as she drifts out of the pool of light.

"Ada, wait!"

It's no use. She's gone.

He bangs the back of his head against the lamp post so hard it draws blood.


	3. Chapter 3

**Eleven**

Rebecca is staring at the floor. She refuses to look at him. He's upset her, said things to her that he had no right to say. The sides of her shirt are balled up in her fists. Her face is red and sweaty. She swallows and the spit goes down like gritty flannel. She's been yelling.

He's standing a few feet away from her, hoping she makes the next move. Part of him wants her to attack him again so he won't feel responsible anymore. He wants her to become hysterical. It will be easier for him to wipe his hands clean from the guilt. He turns his head and his eyes fix on a lamp. He stares at it, hoping it will keep him occupied, keep him from looking at what he's done.

Rebecca's chest heaves, and he hears the remnants of a sob still stuck in her throat. He squeezes his hands closed, the leather squeaking as it rubs against itself. Of all the things he's heard in his life, her crying is one of the worst. He grits his teeth. He knows it's his turn, but he doesn't know what to say. It's all so foreign to him. He's never been in this situation before. He has to make things right, but he doesn't know how.

I can't believe I've made it this long without…

"Say something," he mutters.

Rebecca closes her eyes at the sound of his voice, resenting the fact that he's volleyed the ball back to her court. She draws in a breath as slowly and as evenly as she can, hoping it will help her to speak clearly. "I just…" she starts, and finds she has to pause to keep the words from choking her, "… don't understand why… of all people… why it has to be you." She looks up at him. He turns his head and faces her again. "Why you?"

"How should I answer that?"

"Fuck you!"

"Charming, Miss Chambers."

"Don't look down your fucking nose at me!"

"I'm not looking down my fucking nose at you!"

She's never heard him swear before.

"Why you?" the tears well up in her eyes again. Her voice is faltering. She puts a hand to her forehead. She's getting a headache. "Why? I hate you."

"You have every right to."

"I'm sick of your fucking diplomacy!"

"What do you want from me?" he asks, his voice rising.

"You know what I want!" she says. "You know what I want, and I hate that I want it, but I do. I do." She glares at him. "Say something so I'll hate you more."

"I can't."

"Once more, so I don't have to think about it again."

"I've said enough."

He looks past her and out the large windows behind his desk. He can see the blinking lights of an airplane as it glides through the sky. He watches it as it goes.

When it passes out of sight, I'll say something. Until then, I've got time.

Rebecca is waiting for him. She can't tell what he's thinking. He's still wearing his sunglasses. The plane disappears. He remains silent. She starts to approach him. He wishes that she wouldn't.

It's starting again.

When he can feel her breath on his neck, he turns his head and murmurs in her ear. "If we do this, I'll hurt you."

"Hurt me," she whispers.

It's all he has to hear. He slides an arm around her and gathers her up into his arms. She feels how solid his entire body is as he holds her in front of him. She looks down at him. Their faces are close together; neither is sure of who should kiss who first. Gazing at each others' lips, they bump noses and chuckle. Then, with her hands in his hair, she presses her lips to his. A long, grateful sigh escapes him. His mouth opens; his tongue searches for hers and finds it, circles it slowly. He thinks of his first kiss.

It was nothing like this.

"Where do you want me to take you?" he asks.

"In your bed."

He laughs lightly. He meant to ask where she wanted to be set down. But the thought of him taking her, in the fullest sense, is entirely more appealing. Still holding her close, he switches off the lights on the first floor, then climbs the stairs.

In a moment he's in his room, sitting on his bed, and she's standing before him. He wants to order her to take off her clothes, but he's afraid of coming across too rough. Instead, he reaches under her shirt and slides his hand over her stomach. She leans in close to him as he exposes her flesh to the air and licks her navel. She sucks in her breath as if she's been dealt a lash from a whip. Slowly, carefully, her clothes fall away. She's naked before he's removed anything of his own. She reaches for the buttons of his shirt when he diverts her hand, rises, and eases her down.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll see."

"Aren't you going to…"

"Not yet."

"But…"

"I've wanted to do this for a while."

"Oh?"

"Don't spoil my fun." He grins.

He licks her underneath from bottom to top. She feels his voice rippling inside her with each delicate moan. She hears him remove one of his gloves, and soon his fingers are gently exploring her. She can't decide whether it tickles or burns. All she knows is that it feels good, and she doesn't want him to stop. She can hear his tongue as it laps at her skin. He starts to nod tenderly. His mind wanders. He thinks of the horrible things he's said and done, then pushes the thoughts out of his head. If he thinks about it now he'll betray himself. She'll stop him, and it will be over.

"Come here, dear heart."

"Oh god…"

"Come here."

He holds out his bare hand. She takes it, and he pulls her up. He kisses her.

"Captain…"

"You don't have to call me that."

"I want to."

"Do you like calling me that?"

"I always have."

He lies on top of her, kissing her. He slides his gloved hand over her breasts, the black leather caressing her skin. He straddles her and sits up, then starts to remove his shirt. The buttons come undone and his chest is bared. Rebecca gazes at the smooth skin and taught muscles, hungry, on the verge of desperation. He goes for his belt buckle and unfastens it, pulls it out of the loops in his pants. Rebecca closes her eyes and hears a zipper being pulled down. She purses her lips to keep from smiling. He nestles between her legs. She can feel he's only wearing shorts. They're tight. They feel expensive.

"Look at me."

"God…"

"I remember you," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Oh yes. I had a picture of you."

"Where?"

"In my desk."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Why?" she asks.

"I thought you were pretty. So pretty."

"What about now?" she asks.

"Now you're beautiful."

They roll over. She settles on top of him and gradually removes his shorts. She smoothes her hands over his chest, his legs, his balls. She hears him grunt as she takes hold of him. Her hand moves deliberately, massaging him.

"I used to dream of this."

She hears his arms slide across the mattress. She can tell he's reaching for her.

"When?"

"All those years ago. And now."

"Yeah?"

"You made me happy."

"I couldn't tell."

"You did. You did. Ever."

He brings her close to him and kisses her. Inching closer to her, he sits up and holds her in his arms. His face in her neck, he's nibbling at her skin. She's kneeling over him. He's hard. She thinks about the kind of person she will be if she does this.

Then she decides she doesn't care.

Smoothly, carefully, she takes him inside her.

He moans and presses his head back against the pillow. She watches as he writhes beneath her. His jaw is tight; he opens his mouth and she can see his teeth. His upper lip curls. He looks as if he's in pain, as if someone is choking him. His releases his breath with deep, gratifying gasps. He's moving his hips now, rocking in time with her, circling her, stirring her up. She can feel him throbbing.

"Captain…"

"Becca…"

"Do you like that?"

"I love that."

"Yeah?"

"Sweet…"

He groans.

"I love your voice…"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Talk to me…"

There's a pause, and she hears him laugh lightly.

"I don't know what to say…"

"Tell me something I don't already know."

"I would do anything for you. Anything at all."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Anything I wanted?"

"God yes…"

"I want this. I want you."

"Take me, then."

 **Twelve**

Whenever Jill is alone somewhere in the facility, Chris will think of a reason to find her. He'll tell the rest of the team that he needs a pen, or a notebook, or that she has something of his. When he enters the room she has hidden herself in, he'll start chatting about everything but the item he has come to retrieve. If she ever questions why he's there, he'll tell her he can't remember, and stand staring at the floor pretending to think of what it was he needed. Jill knows he's doing it on purpose.

Jill is staring at the monitor again. She's fascinated by the person Albert Wesker used to be so many years ago. He was chilly and focused; at the same time he was awkward and lacked a great deal of social skills. William Birkin seemed the more outgoing of the pair. She has listened to the things he nattered away about while he and Wesker worked together. Wesker never seemed to pay him much heed. Their relationship then, as she witnesses it, reminds her of the two dogs from the Looney Tunes segment; the hulking, humourless bull dog, and the smaller, yappy dog that skirted around his ankles as he walked. Jill smiles as she tries to think of their names.

 _Butch? Jake?_

The disk reads 1981.

Jill is taken out of her reverie by the sound of a door banging closed down the hall. It isn't the deliberate clang that she's accustomed to. It's a violent slam. Someone is angry. Jill gets up and pokes her head out of the A/V room. Claire is storming down the hall. She narrowly misses smacking Jill's ear as she passes. "Claire?" Jill says.

Claire doesn't stop. Minutes later, Leon opens the door. He's scowling and trying to catch up with her. Jill tries to stop him. "What's going on?"

"Don't ask," he says.

They disappear through the door at the other end of the hallway, one in pursuit of the other. Jill watches them go. She doesn't hear Chris approaching.

"Hey," Chris says.

Jill is startled. "The fuck, Chris?"

He grins. "Scared you?"

"Out of fucking nowhere, man!"

"Sorry."

"What's going on there?"

"Fight."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What about?"

"I don't know."

Jill returns to the rickety chair she's been sitting on. Chris follows her into the room. He catches sight of the monitor, at the Umbrella researchers Jill is studying. "Hey Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"What were the names of those two dogs on Bugs Bunny? Remember? One of them was a bull dog and the other was some little mutt that used to jump over him all the time?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Remember? They were like gangsters. And the little one followed the big one around and used to keep bugging him about stuff. He kept on saying, 'Huh? Huh? Can we? Huh?' Do you…" She looks up at him. His face is delightfully blank. "Do you have any clue at all what..?"

"Nope," he says.

They're looking straight at each other. Their mouths melt into smiles.

Jill doesn't want to ask Chris why he's there this time. Instead, she changes the disk in the DVD player and pretends to be very interested in what the other researchers are talking about. She's afraid if she leaves the disk of Wesker and Birkin playing on the monitor, Chris will get the wrong idea about her absorption with them. She focuses on a larger room with four other young scientists working. They're wearing white lab coats, their I.D. tags pinned to their front pockets.

She doesn't know that if she looked closer, she would recognize one of them.

Chris lets her work. She speaks to him every so often, says things like "Did you catch that?" or "I should write that down. It could be important." He hums his acknowledgement of her comments, but he's thinking of other things. He pictures her holding her gun poised and ready if something should jump out at her. "That's interesting." He thinks of her kicking the door down. "I should rewind that." He remembers her leaning on his shoulder, heroic, exhausted. "This piece of shit better not conk out on me."

"Hmm?"

"I said this piece of shit…"

Everything shuts off suddenly.

"Bullshit!" Jill says angrily. "I was just thinking this was gonna happen! I'm fucking psychic!"

"What the fuck?"

"I bet someone tried to toast something and now the whole block's out of power."

"Shit. Where are you?"

"Where you left me, asshole."

Chris reaches out for her.

"If something touches you, don't freak out, it's me, okay?"

"Yeah."

He knows where she's sitting, but pretends he doesn't. He wants to touch her face. He misjudges the angle. "Ow!"

"Oh shit, sorry, Jilly, what did I..?"

"You poked me in the fucking eye, moron!"

"Sorry! Jesus!"

She starts giggling.

"Ow! Fuck man!"

He starts laughing too. "You don't need your eyes anyway! What the fuck!"

"When the lights come back on, you're a dead man."

"Yeah right."

"That's right!"

They sit together for a minute, in total darkness. "It's gonna drive me crazy," she says at last.

"What is?"

"The names of those two dogs on Bugs Bunny."

"I hate that. Those little things you can't remember for some reason and they drive you nuts? Those are the worst."

"Yeah, Jeez."

Chris has rolled his chair up next to Jill's. He reaches out and lays his hand on her arm.

"Is that you?"

"No, Chris."

"Yeah it is."

"Who else would it be?"

He squeezes her arm. "I dunno. It's kinda muscley. Leon?"

"Fuck you!"

"No, it can't be Leon. He doesn't have a potty mouth like a certain Jill I know."

"You're a shithead."

"Jill! Is that you?"

She tries to smack him in the shoulder, but ends up smacking him in the face.

"Oh man!"

"Ow!"

"Serves you right!"

He reaches for her side and squeezes it. She lets out a yelp. "Don't tickle me!"

He laughs triumphantly; then the smile fades away.

"Jilly?"

"What?"

"I want to talk."

She freezes. "I don't talk in the dark."

"I know."

What?

"I'm not…"

The power returns, leaving them in a green haze of fluorescent light. They squint as their eyes adjust. The monitor flickers with black and white snow. The disk hasn't resumed playing. They look down at the dirty linoleum floor. Chris taps the side of her boot with his.

"Later," he says. He gets up and strolls towards the door.

"What did you want before?" Jill asks.

"I can't remember."

He leaves. She doesn't want to know what that means.

 _Boss? Sam?_

 **Thirteen**

 _William's shoulders tense up the moment he hears Albert enter the room. He looks over at him warily, a nervous half-smile on his face. "I thought you were going home for the night."_

 _"I changed my mind. I'm not finished here."_

 _"Things to catch up on?"_

 _"Things to finish. I'm on schedule."_

 _"Oh."_

 _William skirts around the table as Albert takes a seat. He won't look at his partner. Instead, he relies on his ears to feel the situation out. They work in silence, as they always do, but the silence is coming from a darker place. "Wes?"_

 _"Will?"_

 _"I was thinking of taking a leave of absence. Just a short one. What do you think?"_

 _"I think if you do you'll fall hopelessly behind."_

 _"Really?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"Maybe I shouldn't then."_

 _"What do you need a leave for?"_

 _"I've been… a little stressed out."_

 _"Why's that?"_

 _"Just… the work is intense, and I…"_

 _"Can't handle it?"_

 _"No, it's not that."_

 _"You'll fall behind, Will. Someone else will make the discovery before you do. You don't want that, do you?"_

 _"No, but…"_

 _"Then maybe," Albert turns to him. There's an icy glint in his eyes. "Maybe you should stay put."_

 _William nods._

 _"Okay."_

 _He puts some documents down on the table next to Albert. "I'm going to get something to eat."_

 _"Bring it back here."_

 _"Yes. Do you want anything?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Okay."_

 _He picks up his pass card and is about to leave._

 _"Oh, Will?"_

 _"Yes?"_

 _"Is there something you'd like to tell me?"_

 _William stands perfectly still._

 _"I'm not sure."_

 _Albert turns around in his chair._

 _"Try to remember."_

 _"I don't know."_

 _Albert sniggers._

 _"You know something you shouldn't, Will."_

 _"Do I?"_

 _"I have it from a very reliable source. You've been poking your nose where it doesn't belong." He stands up._

 _William doesn't move. He hasn't taken a shot today. He's helpless. "No."_

 _"You're lying, Will."_

 _William is about to defend himself when Albert strides forward, stops abruptly in front of him, and grabs him by the throat. William's hands fly to Albert's wrist, try to loosen his grip. His face starts to turn red. "I hate it when you play dumb, Will," he says coldly. "Don't even try it this time. You know what I'm talking about. If you breathe a word of it to anyone, I'll kill you." He holds William up higher, nearly lifting him off the floor. "I'll kill you. Slowly. Do you understand me?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"I can't hear you."_

 _"Yes!"_

 _Albert releases him. William coughs, swallows hard. Albert's mouth twists into a sinister smile. "That's more like it."_

 _He turns his back and returns to his chair. William repeats the same word in his head over and over again._

 _Nazi… Nazi…_

 **Fourteen**

Claire thinks the house that Eunice Johnson lives in is cute. It's a humble bungalow in a South Carolina suburb. The gables have been freshly painted. The garden out front is well tended. The grass is very green. There are white lace curtains in the windows, potted plants hanging in macramé. She can even smell apple pie. This is the kind of house Claire always wanted when she was little.

Claire can't help but feel guilty as she walks up the stone path to the front door. She and Leon both know they're about to open up a can of worms. How old is Eunice anyway? She must be in her seventies. Will she even remember what happened all those years ago? Will she be upset by the unexpected knock on the door? Claire steals a look at Leon. She can tell he's trying to keep the smell of baking fresh in his nostrils. He's inhaling deeply. Leon always had a sweet tooth.

Leon is the one who reaches out and grabs the old fashioned brass knocker. He raps on the door lightly and waits. "One second, dears," a voice calls from inside. They look at each other, confused.

"'Dears'?"

"I'm not gonna ask," Claire says.

They hear someone shuffling to the door. It opens to reveal an old woman, black, with immaculately kempt white hair. She has dark freckles on the apples of her cheeks and across her nose. She smiles at them with both rows of perfectly aligned teeth. They're obviously dentures.

"Hello there! Jehovah's witnesses?"

"No, no, we're not Jehovah's witnesses," Leon says. He can't help but grin at her assumption. "Are you Eunice Johnson?"

"Yes. Can I help you?" She has a lovely Southern lilt.

"My name's Leon Kennedy. This is Captain Redfield," he motions towards Claire.

"You're police officers?"

"Sort of."

"You two must be from New York. Such handsome officers there."

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about your employment with the Umbrella Corporation," Claire says as politely as she can.

"I was never employed by anyone called 'Umbrella'," Eunice says. Her gaze narrows when she thinks she might be mistaken. "I don't think so, anyway."

"According to their payroll records you were an employee from 1978 to 1998," Claire tells her.

"'Umbrella'?"

"Did you ever work for the state of South Carolina?" Leon asks.

"Oh yes. I was a government child care worker."

"We want to ask you about a boy whose care you were charged with in the late sixties."

"Oh?"

"May we come in?" Claire asks. There's no reason for them to enter Eunice Johnson's home, but Claire can't resist its charm. She wants to see what's inside.

"Of course," Eunice says with another kind smile. "Just wipe your feet."

Eunice leads them to her living room. "I suppose you can smell the apple pie cooling. Should be finished by now. Would you care for a piece? The recipe I use yields six pies and I can never finish them all. I just freeze them."

Leon really wants to say yes, even though it's unprofessional.

"Oh…" Claire says. She wants a piece too.

"Come on, you two, don't be shy. You've come all this way."

Twist my rubber arm, Leon thinks.

"Thank you so much," Claire says on their behalf.

"My pleasure."

Eunice goes into her kitchen. Claire looks around the room at the doilies, the colourful glass lamps and framed pictures, the coat stand in one corner with a gentleman's jacket and fedora hanging off it.

She looks at Leon. He's gone melancholic, just as she thought he would.

When Eunice returns she's wheeling a cart with a tea pot and china on the top shelf, and three slices of apple pie on the second. "Isn't this the smartest thing?" she asks them, pointing to the cart. "My grandson bought it for me from that Ikea place. It's so handy when I'm entertaining." She sets the items out on the coffee table. "Help yourselves."

Leon doesn't want to be the first one to move. Neither does Claire. "Don't be shy, now, go on."

They both decide they like Eunice very much.

"Mrs. Johnson… or is it Ms. Johnson?"

"Mrs. Johnson. My husband died ten years ago, bless his soul."

"Mrs. Johnson… you worked with children who were wards of the state of South Carolina in the 1960s, is that right?"

"Yes, that's right," she says proudly. "I'm a registered nurse."

"We wanted to ask you about one particular boy in your care from 1967 to 1972. Albert Wesker?"

Eunice's face grows very solemn. "Do you remember a boy by that name?"

"Oh yes… Albert. I remember him." She smoothes her hair with an open hand. "Albert. Has he done something wrong?" Her face is pained. Leon knows he can't tell her the truth.

"No."

"I hope not." She sighs.

"Can you tell us a little about him?" Claire asks.

Eunice takes a deep breath.

"Albert came to us straight from an orphanage in Germany," she starts. "One of those terrible orphanages you hear about on 60 Minutes. He was seven when he arrived. He was a beautiful child, very fair hair, big blue eyes. But he always looked haunted, like he had demons he couldn't get rid of. He didn't speak to anyone for the first six weeks."

"Why was it that he was flown to the States?"

"The patron of the orphanage had a wealthy half brother living in the States who offered to sponsor the children if they were brought here."

"Do you know his name?"

"Oh dear, no, I couldn't tell you."

"Go on."

"Well, he was a smart boy, wickedly smart. The state educators could tell he was gifted. They favoured him during lessons. Albert never seemed to notice he was special in that regard. He just went about what he was asked to do, hardly spoke to anyone. The other kids used to tease him mercilessly, I remember. They called him all kinds of names. He pretended it didn't bother him, but he was very sensitive. Awkward. He could be cold. Dear heart," she says, sipping her tea.

Claire recognizes the term of endearment.

So that's where he got it from.

"He could be very cold, but anyone who paid enough attention could see he was scared. Scared of everything."

"You were fired from your position in 1972, is that right?" Leon asks.

"Yes, that's right."

"Can you tell us why you were let go?"

Eunice sips her tea again.

"I didn't like how they were treating him."

"Treating who? Wesker?"

"Albert," she says sadly.

"How were they treating him?"

"They treated Albert like he was an experiment. People, officials of some sort, would come in and monitor his classes. They'd follow him around and watch every move he made. Now, I'm a registered nurse, you see. I spent a lot of time learning how to care for people. When Albert was twelve they started giving him injections. They told me it was because he was sickly. Some kind of steroid to help keep him strong. But they wouldn't tell me what the injection was exactly. I put in several requests to know what the serum was made of, but no one ever told me. And he hated those needles. He would scream, kick, punch, struggle, he was terrified of them. He used to cry, Lord, he used to scream…"

Leon shifts in his seat. He doesn't want to think about it.

"One day I told them I refused to give him his shot unless they told me what I was giving him. And I was fired the next day for insubordination. It was so sad. He grabbed me by my waist and begged me not to leave him. He had a very strong grip. I remember thinking there was no way he needed any kind of steroid shot, no way at all. He took it so personally. He thought I was doing it just to hurt him. He was so young, he didn't understand. His face was all red. He told me I was the only friend he ever had. 'Please, ma'am Eunice,'…that's what he used to call me… 'Please don't leave me'. It's sad, hearing a twelve year old boy say something like that. Dear heart."

Eunice reaches into her pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. She's weeping.

Claire feels bad for her, but she has to continue.

"Did you keep in touch with him?"

"No, I couldn't. That kind of thing isn't allowed. Wards are very closely guarded, Albert especially. We never saw each other again after that."

"How do you explain showing up on Umbrella's payroll?"

"I don't know who Umbrella is."

"It's a pharmaceutical company Wesker used to work for."

Eunice wipes away the last of her tears, then smiles.

"He told me he wanted to marry me and take care of me once. That's his way of making good on his promise."

"You remember receiving the cheques?"

"Oh yes. He signs them himself. I get one every month. But from what company, I couldn't tell you."

They finish off their pie, finish their tea. Claire and Leon stare at the floor. Eunice searches their faces, tries to lighten the mood. "Would you two like another piece? Don't be shy now." She holds out the plate of apple pie.

They accept, if only to feel less empty.

 **Fifteen**

Rebecca is sitting in the passenger seat of his car. It's a black luxury car; the interior is upholstered in buttery soft leather, the lights on the dashboard are giving off a bluish glow in the darkness. The engine is so quiet she can't hear it. The windows are tinted, but she can still see outside. All the young men they drive by eye the car with the kind of admiration that can very quickly dissolve into jealousy. They reckon the person, the man, driving this car has got to be an asshole. Only an asshole would have a ride this sweet.

A CD is playing on the car stereo. Rebecca didn't think he would listen to music like this. It's a mix of African folk songs and pop; the lyrics are sung in French. He leans over and turns up the volume several times, at different points in different songs. He's not singing along, but she can tell he knows this CD inside out. At one point, she catches him tapping the steering wheel in time to the drums. It doesn't last very long.

There isn't a single line in his face. He checks the mirrors often, looks over his shoulder to make sure he's in the clear, signals, switches lanes, with smooth, precise gestures. He's sitting perfectly straight, his hands at ten and two o'clock, one foot on the gas pedal, the other resting against the little nook reserved for it. The suit he's wearing is pinstriped. It's the first time she's seen him wear something that isn't completely black. He's even adorned his shirt with gold cufflinks. Not a hair is out of place.

The way he has taken command of the vehicle stirs something inside her. The way he knows exactly where he's going and how he's going to get there impresses her. There's control in every action he executes, mastery. The lights that pass rhythmically over the car illuminate his otherwise shadowed face. Even at night, he's wearing his sunglasses. Even in this weather, he's wearing his gloves. She recalls something she overheard once. Leather gloves are the calling card of an assassin. Rebecca never forgot it. She's always liked leather gloves.

"Did you buy this car?"

"Yes."

"You just went to a lot and bought it one day?"

"That's generally how a car is purchased."

"You didn't send someone else to do it?"

"Normally I would, but I have a thing for cars. Best to pick it out myself."

"I like it."

"Do you?"

"Yeah."

"Why's that?"

"The same reasons you like it."

He smiles.

"What reasons are those, do you think?"

"Well… because… it's expensive."

He chuckles.

"You like it because it's expensive?"

"Well, no, because it's… it's sleek looking, and it's quiet."

"It handles well. I like that. The looks are a plus too. But that's not the main reason I bought it."

"Why'd you buy it?"

"I bought it because it lets people know I'm in control."

"Can't any old car do that if you drive it well?"

"Sure it can. But this isn't any old car." He turns to her. "It's an expensive car."

She smiles.

"See? I knew it."

They continue driving.

"What did you mean by letting people know you're in control?"

"It's a guy thing."

"Oh yeah?"

She scoffs at his remark.

"Are you interested in cars?" he asks.

"Not really."

"In certain circles, this is a highly revered car."

His tongue is firmly in his cheek.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. It lets the other people on the road know I have power."

"Right."

"That's right."

"You're saying you need a car to feel good about yourself."

A smile starts to grow on his face.

"Not necessarily. There are other things that give me that same feeling."

"Like what?"

He looks at her with a wicked grin.

"Like when you blow me."

The blood rushes to her cheeks. It always does when he says something crass.

"Are we playing a game?" she asks.

"Yes."

"You think you're the one with the power when I blow you?"

"Absolutely."

"I disagree."

"I'm sure you do."

They turn a corner.

She reaches over and puts her hand in his lap. He moves to hold it. "Keep your hands on the wheel," she says. His smile widens.

"Yes ma'am."

"Don't move unless I tell you to."

"Alright."

He signals, checks his mirror, looks over his shoulder, and switches lanes. Rebecca turns her hand over, walks her fingers to his belt buckle, unfastens it. He shifts in his seat. Her fingers slip under the waistband of his shorts. He breathes deeply, anticipating her touch. Her hand dips down over his stiffening erection. She takes hold of his balls, pulls on them gently, catches him biting his lower lip. Her fingers start to circle them, her thumb massages him. She lets go when she's certain he's hard, takes hold of him, and starts to stroke.

"People can see what you're doing," he says.

"No they can't."

"I should pull over."

"Shut up or I'll stop. Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

"Then keep driving."

He knew she had a streak like this. When he first met her, he could tell it was the one thing that always turned her on to things, always intrigued her about him. He was the one with the power. And she loved it, coveted it. She just hasn't come right out and said it yet.

She will, though.

Rebecca takes off her seatbelt and leans over. He moves his hips forward, reclines in his seat. She wets her lips. He shakes his head, as if his collar is too tight, reaches to unbutton it. "Don't move."

"I have to unbutton my collar."

"Why's that?"

"Because you're making me hot."

"Ask me nicely."

"May I unbutton my collar, Miss Chambers?"

"Go for it."

"Thank you."

He opens the first two, returns his hand to the steering wheel. She bows over him, takes him into her mouth, slides over him. He stifles a groan. She can hear him tightly gripping the wheel. Her tongue swirls around his skin; she can taste him. He's sweet. She grips him and moves her hand in time with her lips. He's dying to put his hand on the back of her head and tell her what to do, how to please him, to guide her. But that's not what the game is all about. Instead he raises his hips, tries to drive himself deeper into her mouth, then stops when he realizes he might lose control of the car. Frustrated, hungry for more, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"I have to pull over."

"Why?"

"I'm close."

"Yeah?"

"I might get us killed."

"Are you losing control?"

A breathy laugh escapes him. "I have to pull over, Miss Chambers."

"What's wrong, Captain? I thought you were in control. Aren't you?"

"No."

"Who's in control, then?"

He holds the steering wheel tighter, smiles at her brazenness. "Who?"

"You are."

"Me?"

"Yes."

"That's right. I am."

"May I pull over, Miss Chambers?"

"Yeah, pull over."

He swerves, almost recklessly, and drives up on the paved shoulder of the road. He throws his hazard lights on as Rebecca climbs onto his lap. He yanks his pants down further; she catches his mouth in a frantic kiss. He's glad she's chosen to wear the skirt today. Without ceremony, he reaches beneath it and rips the crotch of her panties open. His gloved fingers press into her dampening skin. "Dear heart…"

"I want you inside me…"

"Dear heart…"

"Now, goddamn it…"

He lifts her up, then brings her down, his sex thrusting, intense. She groans, eager, taken. They're gasping, their faces pressed together, moistened with sweat. Condensation starts to fog up the already tinted windows. It mutes the light from the streetlamps so that they look like glowing orbs against the glass. His moans build in volume, in passion. He slams an open hand on the dashboard.

"You're beautiful…"

"Am I, Captain?"

"I'd do anything for you."

"You've said that before."

"I always knew you would like this."

"Like what?"

"Like the power."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Not as much as you do."

"Exactly as much as I do."

She starts to purr, thinks about what he's just said, thinks about the cars that are driving by them, oblivious to what they're doing, well on their ways home. She thinks about the kind of people that are driving at this time of night; blue collar shift workers going home to their sleeping wives. She wonders if he's right, if she'd be capable of the things she knows he's done, and a pang of sadness, of fear, enters her heart.

But she remembers he thinks she's beautiful and selfishly pushes them aside.

She giggles, grabs the back of his neck and runs her nails along his skin. She takes his glasses off. His eyes are closed, of course; the sweat running from his brow has pooled in his tear ducts. She knows why he won't look at her, and it eggs her on. She rides him furiously.

"We have to do this again," he says.

"It's not over yet."

"Promise me we'll do this again."

She laughs.

"I promise."

"In my car."

"In your expensive car."

"In my fuckin' car."

"Wherever I want."

"Wherever you want…"

He grabs onto her, panting, heaving, buries his face in her breasts, and yells, roars as he orgasms. She feels his voice reverberate in her chest, slams back against him with everything she's got. Even as it fades he's growling, his gloved hands beneath her shirt, clawing her soft skin.

When it's over he sighs, rests his head in the crook of her neck. She puts her fingers through his hair. The wanting subsides; they're exhausted. "Game over," she says. "I win."

"You win," he says, sated, happy. He raises his face and kisses her cheek. "You win."


	4. Chapter 4

**Sixteen**

Claire won't let on, but she's taking it the hardest. She's failed Rebecca. Not only has she failed her, she's failed in front of Leon. She's never screwed up this bad, not even all those years ago in Racoon City. They worked together then, saved the day before everything was blown to hell. Yesterday was his first day with the team. She didn't have the chance to speak to him very much. But she was glad he was there. Now she wishes he didn't ask for the extra couple of days leave. She wishes he had come after the fact. She could have told the story her way then.

All she wants to do now is get back to the facility. She could have done more, should have done more to keep this from happening. Her hand is in her pocket. She's fingering the vial of Wesker's blood. When Rebecca handed it to her, she was surprised to feel it was cold. Straight from the vein, and cold. The thought of Rebecca being led god knows where infuriates her. Claire knows Wesker won't do anything so long as she has this sample with her. It's a small comfort.

When they arrive, she's the first to get out of the car. She marches into the facility, red faced, exhausted but too wired to rest. She punches in her security card number and gets access to the lower level of the building. It's late. Most of the staff have gone home already.

Most, but not all.

Claire walks into Cumberland's office. Startled, he looks up at her. "Catch," she says, and tosses the vial to him.

"What's this?"

"Albert Wesker's blood."

Cumberland's face grows pale. "Rebecca Chambers was detained at the compound. That blood is the only thing that's guaranteeing her safety. Analyze it. Don't tell anyone else you have it. I expect a full report in a week."

"Captain Redfield… I'm just a doctor, I can't very well…"

"Don't play dumb with me, Cumberland," Claire snaps. He stops. "I know who you are. I'm the only member of the team who does, so you're lucky. If they knew, they wouldn't take too kindly to you being here. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he says, humbled.

"The others are coming. Chris and Jill have been injured. When they're here, you can be 'just a doctor'. Understand?"

"Yes."

"One week."

She turns on her heel and leaves.

She heads to her office. Once she's inside, she knows she'll be safe. She's walking briskly, ignoring all the little things about the facility that drive her nuts: the dirty corners, the cracks in the floor and in the walls, the ugly paint job and buzzing fluorescent lights. She's going to crack and she can't let anyone see it happen. They've lost enough respect for her already, she reckons. When she reaches her door, she opens it and steps inside, then closes and leans back against it. One look at her too-tidy desk is all it takes for her to lose it.

She starts sobbing.

She shouldn't be thinking this, but she wishes Leon was with her, watching her cry. She wishes he would come into the room and see how badly she's hurting, walk over to her and hold her. The more she lets her mind wander, the harder she cries. Why is it that, even when another member of her team has been taken prisoner, she can only think of him?

The phone on her desk rings. She wipes her face and takes a couple of deep breaths. When she answers the phone, her voice is calm again, as if nothing has happened. "Captain Redfield."

"Captain, it's Hollum."

"Hello, sir."

"Can you comment on the status of your mission?"

"Mission not yet complete. We had to abort phase two."

"Under what cause?"

"Suspicion of a second covert operation taking place."

"Anyone we know?"

"Possibly Wesker. I'm not sure," she lies.

"When will you launch your second attempt at phase two?"

"We'll reconvene tomorrow to discuss an alternative plan."

"Understood. Get some sleep, Redfield. You sound terrible."

"I will, sir."

She hears a definite click as her commanding officer hangs up the phone. She's never met Hollum in person before. She doesn't know what he looks like. He sounds young, almost as young as she is. The others don't know his name, or who he is. She wonders if it would matter to them.

She starts crying again when she decides it would.

 **Seventeen**

It's Chris' turn.

This time around, the rendezvous point is in a poor excuse for a park. Most of the grass has been trampled into mud. The picnic tables the local mechanics use during their lunch hour are falling apart; the brown painted wood is split, the nails are rusted. Some post-post modern industrial sculptures have been placed around the area in a half-assed attempt to bring a little culture here. They're covered in brown and green oxidized scum. The air smells like metal and tastes like sulphur. There's a slag pit not too far from here.

Chris' boots make a squishing sound as he walks. He left later because he didn't want to be caught waiting, hanging around. He despises the idea that he's on someone else's, namely Wesker's, schedule. Claire kept on telling him to get a move on, but he thought up enough excuses in order to leave as late as he did. He shouldn't piss her off in front of everyone; it's unprofessional. He's been playing the nepotism card a little too often.

He can see the shadow of someone sitting on one of the picnic tables. He can't tell if it's a woman or a man in this light. He strolls up, hands at his sides. "Hey!"

The person looks up. "You're with Wesker?" A nod is his response. "Got something for me?"

The contact slides off the table and starts to approach. It's one of the soldiers they encountered that night in the warehouse; Chris recognizes the mask. His anger returns. "I figured I'd see one of you guys again. Where's your gun, buddy?"

The soldier jerks his thumb over his shoulder. Chris sees a smaller machine gun lying on top of the picnic table.

"It's loaded," the soldier says, his voice somewhat muffled by the mask. "You got a light?"

"A what?"

"A light. I need a smoke."

"Give me the package and I'll give you a light."

The soldier reaches into a pouch strapped to his leg and retrieves the second reconnaissance disk. He hands it to him.

"Make it quick, man, I'm jonesin'."

"This part of your orders?" Chris asks.

The soldier laughs.

"Have a heart, guy."

Chris takes a lighter out of the pocket of his jeans. He can't remember where he got it from. He hands it to the soldier. "Thanks, man." The soldier removes his mask.

Chris studies his face while he retrieves a cigarette. He's about Chris' age, East Indian, handsome. His black hair has been flattened against his head. "You want one?"

"No, thanks."

He lights the cigarette and inhales gratefully.

"Can't smoke on duty. But I'm gonna justify it since you're holding the recon disk. Outta my hands now."

"Were you the asshole that had a gun to my head the other day?"

"Naw, that was someone else. I had the blonde."

"What do they call you?"

"What they call all of us. Codename HUNK."

"You're HUNK?"

"We're all HUNK," he says. "Easier to remember that way." He smiles.

He could sell toothpaste for a living.

HUNK walks back to the picnic table and sits on it. "It sucks being addicted to this shit," he says. "I've been trying to quit, but it kills the taste of these errands. I hate these errands."

"You'd rather be doing something else?"

"Yeah, man! Storming the castle or something! Get in, get out, quick as possible. That's the stuff I live for."

"Then why are you here?"

"Following orders. I answer to the man."

"Wesker."

"The man, guy. The man can be anyone."

Chris moves to sit next to him. HUNK gets his gun out of the way.

"You follow orders no matter what?"

"We all follow orders. Even you. Look at you. You look like an asshole standing here in the dark. I look like an asshole sitting on this table having a smoke. We're a couple of assholes." He leans over and spits on the ground. "We answer to the man."

"I don't answer to anyone."

"Fuck you, you don't!" HUNK laughs. "You wouldn't be here otherwise."

Chris smiles.

"I guess not."

A fire truck's siren starts to wail in the distance. "Is our girl safe?"

"Yeah, she should be. He's not gonna hurt her unless you guys fuck up."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, guy, that's the truth. You want sugar, suck a lollypop."

Chris chuckles and decides to play the Devil's Advocate. "You ever think maybe you're on the wrong side?"

"Whose side should I be on? Yours?"

"Maybe."

"Naw, I don't think about that. Me and mine are taken care of. As long as someone's willing to look out for me, I'll look out for them."

"Even if it means you're doing the wrong thing?"

HUNK looks at him sideways, amused. "You're quick to judge, guy."

"I'm just saying…"

"I do right by me. So do you. You and me are the same. I always keep that in mind."

"We're the same, huh? That's what you believe?"

"That's what I have to believe." He grins. "Makes it easier to kill you when the time comes."

"Don't be so sure."

They snigger. HUNK finishes his smoke. "Right, man. I'm off. Don't follow me or you'll get a knife in the throat."

"I'm not as easy to kill as you think I am."

"That's what they all say." HUNK picks up his mask. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"I believe it when you say it."

He replaces the mask and starts to walk out of the park.

"See you around," Chris calls.

His back to Chris, HUNK holds his hand up in farewell.

Chris wonders if under different circumstances, they'd be friends.

 **Eighteen**

 _That day, one of the little boys was caught stealing an orange. Oranges were hard to come by in this region. Not only did they have to be imported, they were only brought in by diesel truck every month or so. They were rationed. The children rarely got to taste them. They were mostly reserved for the people in charge. When they caught him, he had just finished the last slice. They called him greedy and wicked. The headmaster tried to grab a handful of his hair, but it was too fine to grasp and he ended up tearing a chunk out. Instead, he seized the boy by the scruff of the neck and dragged him down to the cellar._

 _They didn't put children in the cellar until they were at least five years old. That's when their immune systems would really kick in, fight off anything unfortunate that should befall them. It saved money on medicine, and it got the point across._

 _This was the first time the little boy had been to the cellar. When they told him that's where he was going, he started sobbing. He didn't bother begging to be spared, because he knew it didn't make a difference. Instead he let the headmaster pull him along with the hope that the sooner he arrived, the sooner he would be let out. He had seen other children be released in as little as half an hour. He hoped stealing the orange didn't warrant any longer than that._

 _When he saw what the cellar really looked like, he started screaming. It wasn't a cellar at all. It was a cold preserves closet, with no room to sit down. He would have to stand, surrounded by empty jars and cobwebs, until they decided he had learned his lesson. The door was made of heavy wood, five inches thick, and solid. There was no light bulb. The headmaster snarled something about asking forgiveness before shoving the little boy in and slamming the door closed. The boy heard the bolt slide into place._

 _By that time he was crying so hard that no sound was coming from him. His mouth was open wide in terror, his eyes shut tight, the tears saturating his cheeks. He drooled down the front of his sweater, then put his entire arm over his face, using his sleeve to sop everything up. His stomach hurt from weeping. He heard a squeak come from the shelf behind his head, close to his ear. He gasped, his sobs ceasing abruptly. He knew if he continued, he wouldn't be able to hear where they were._

 _A crack of light came in from beneath the door. The little boy looked down. Something skittered over his stocking feet. He turned his head and a cobweb stuck to his cheek. His hand flew up to wipe it away. He started shivering. He heard another screech. He couldn't tell how many there were. He backed against the shelves, jostling one of the jars. It tipped forward and back before it balanced again. Everything was so close the smallest noises sounded louder. He held his breath, afraid that if he made so much as a peep they would know he was there._

 _One of them landed on his shoulder._

 _He screamed; the sound bounced off the wood and seemed to smack him in the face. He shook and stamped his feet, trying to scare them away. He could hear them gnawing away at the walls, pointed teeth and sharp claws digging, scratching. A trail of dust fell from the ceiling and landed on his head, bits of plaster stuck in his eyes. He put both his arms around himself and, since that time there wasn't room to rock back and forth, started to sway from side to side, turning at his waist. He wasn't waiting to be rescued, or asking for forgiveness._

 _At five years old, Albert was praying for death._

 **Nineteen**

Rebecca hears something beep. It's been quiet for hours. He's been sitting at his desk all this time, doing what he does day in and day out; and stealing glimpses at her when she isn't looking. The sound startles her. She glances around the room with a worried look on her face. He takes something out of the jacket of his suit, some sort of personal communication device. Rebecca has never seen anything like it. He presses a button and says, "Send it up."

"What's going on?" she asks.

"I've taken the liberty of bringing you some clothes."

For a moment, she can't speak.

"You did what?"

"I'm sure you're tired of wearing the same garments every day."

"What am I, a fucking doll for you to dress up?"

"Temper, temper."

"I'm not wearing anything you've brought."

"You'll change your mind."

"No, actually, I won't."

The elevator arrives. He walks over to it, uses a key to release the door. There's a single package in the middle of the floor, wrapped in brown paper. He bends over and picks it up. She backs away as he strides past her and tosses the package onto the chaise.

"It makes no difference to me if you think you'll wear them or not. All I'm saying is I'm sick of looking at you, the way you're dressed."

"Tough shit."

"Indeed."

"Give it back to me!"

He turns around.

"What?"

"Give me back my sweater! I know you have it!"

He smirks, then turns around and heads to his desk. He's pulling his glove off slowly, starting with the first finger, then the second, until all the fingers are loose and he can pull it off without ripping the leather. He opens the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieves the sweater, enjoying the way it feels against his skin one last time before returning it. He flings it over to her, and she catches it. "Don't take my stuff again."

He stops, turns, and glares at her.

"Is that an order?"

"I'm not wearing those clothes."

"You're starting to stink, Miss Chambers."

"I'd rather."

"I wouldn't."

"You can't fool me, you know. You think I trust you're not going to do something terrible to me? Just because you cater my meals and buy me stupid clothes I don't need or want?"

"Perhaps I should be cruel, then. It would remove any ambiguity you sense on my part. Make it easier for you."

"Maybe you should be. I can see right through you, Captain."

"Don't call me 'Captain'."

"Sorry. Whatever you are, to whoever is pulling your strings, maybe you should be cruel."

"Very well," he says.

She hears the sound again – that same slicing sound she heard that first night he brought her here. For a moment he's a blur, a fast-moving shadow beneath the track lighting. He stops in an unlit corner of the room, his silhouette clearly defined against the dark blue of the evening sky beyond the window pane. She gasps when she realizes what he's done.

He's ripped her clothes open, torn her shirt apart, sliced through her pants so that they can't be fastened, but left her skin unharmed. She puts her arms up and covers as much of her exposed flesh as she can. "Remember what's beneath the surface, Miss Chambers. Time will pass more slowly that way, but it's for the best. And don't forget who's running the show. I don't answer to you or to anyone else."

He moves out of the unlit corner and over to his desk. "I've arranged a conference call with your team mates tomorrow morning at 7:00 am. Go to bed. I don't want them to think I'm torturing you."

She doesn't move. She can't think of anything to say. She's furious and on the verge of tears. "Now, Miss Chambers, before I show you exactly how cruel I can be."

She won't budge. She's staring at him, murderously angry.

"I hate you," she says slowly. "I always have. I can't wait until Chris tears you apart."

He chuckles. She puts her arms down, not caring anymore about what he can or can't see of her, and picks up the package. Before she climbs the stairs, she hurls it at him. In a minute, she's locked herself in his room. He can hear her weeping as quietly as she can. He sighs and looks out the window.

She doesn't know he had her own clothes sent to her straight from the facility when he arranged the conference call.

He can't blame her. He should have known how it would look.

 **Twenty**

Leon is smoking. It's his first cigarette in two months. He used to smoke a pack a day, sometimes more, but he quit three years ago. Apart from the occasional one with friends, he's been nicotine free. There's something about this afternoon, though, and the way the sunlight is glinting off Ada's hair that made him want to light up. She offered him one, and he couldn't refuse.

Ada is standing naked in front of the plastic blinds. They're half open, allowing the golden rays at least a little entrance into the room. She's puffing gratefully on a cigarette of her own. The skin on her right arm is dry. She keeps scratching it while trying to blow smoke rings. Leon is taking her body in, from her bare feet and ankles all the way up her smooth, tanned body. He loves that the colour of her nipples matches her lips. Leon has kissed away the dark pink gloss she usually wears.

Leon knows he doesn't have much longer. He's afraid to look at the clock. He has to be back at the facility for the briefing. Phase three, Claire called it. He can't miss it. Even when he's taken leave of his usual duties, his hours are accounted for. He wonders if Ada is ever granted a vacation from what she does. Somehow he doubts it, but he still wants to ask. There's so much he doesn't know about her.

Ada turns her head and catches him looking at her. She tries to blow a smoke ring at him but fails miserably. They both chuckle. "Hello, handsome."

"Hello."

"I never thought I'd see your eyes in this kind of light."

"Neither did I."

She strolls over to the night table and butts out her smoke. He moves his arm out of the way; she takes her cue and climbs on top of him. She kisses him and takes his cigarette from his hand to steal a puff, then hands it back to him. She doesn't try another smoke ring. They both know she can't do it. Her head rests on his chest.

"Did you have nice dreams?"

"Yeah."

"What did you dream about?"

"The usual."

"What's that? 'The usual'?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"You won't tell me your dreams, Leon?"

"Not yet. Maybe next time."

"What if there isn't a next time?"

"Then you'll never know."

Ada raises her head and starts to pick at Leon's hair. She twists his bangs out of his eyes. He needs a shave. "Pleasure working with you, big guy."

"Don't."

"What?" she asks, playing innocent.

"Don't remind me that you'll switch sides once it's over."

"How do you know what will happen when it's all over?"

"I don't. But I know enough about you to make an educated guess."

"Maybe I won't."

"You will."

He spreads his legs beneath the blanket and brings them up, enveloping her in the sheet and his thighs.

"Leon…"

He puts the cigarette to her lips. She takes a drag. "Someone up there thinks I've been a very good girl."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Haven't we paid our dues?"

"I don't know. We've done some pretty bad things, you and me."

"But we went right somewhere. We had to have."

Leon turns his head and looks at the rays of light falling on the carpet. "What are you thinking, Leon?"

"That you always seem to have the upper hand."

"No I don't," she laughs and shakes her head. "But I do a really good impression of it."

"I was thinking about questions to ask you, since we're here."

"Too many questions are never a good idea."

"What about five?"

He looks down into her almond eyes. "Give me five answers. Honest answers."

"Five honest answers. Alright. But then it's my turn."

"Yeah."

"Alright, go ahead."

"Why do you do what you do?"

"Because it's all I know."

"Why do you do this to me?"

"Because it's all I know."

"Ada…"

"You said honest answers."

"Will you ever be on my side?"

"I'm on your side now."

"I'm allowed to rephrase the question. Will you ever stay on my side?"

"No."

"What's your favourite ice cream flavour?"

"Chocolate."

"Do you have any regrets?"

"Yes."

She strokes his cheek with her thumb. "But you already knew that."

Leon raises his hips, arches into Ada's warm body. She kisses him, parts her lips, slips her tongue into his mouth. They betray the silence with soft, grateful sighs. "My turn," she says.

"Okay."

"Do you ever get sick of being the hero?"

"Yes."

"If you could be bad for a day, and not have to answer for it, would you?"

"No."

"Do you ever dream about me?"

"Yes."

"What's your favourite ice cream flavour?"

"Strawberry."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Yes."

She looks up into his face. His blue eyes are steely.

"How much time do I have left?"

"That's six."

"I get a freebie."

"There are no freebies."

"How much time do I have left, Leon?"

He cups her face in his hands.

"A while."

Ada pulls the sheet off of him.

"I want to go out in a blaze of glory."

"I'll see what I can do."

Soon they're kissing, biting, desperate. The clock is ticking. It's 2:30 pm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Twenty-one**

Rebecca's bare feet are lying in his lap. He's taken off his gloves to massage them. His hands are strong. Rebecca isn't used to anyone touching her feet. She keeps pressing her lips together to keep from giggling. She's convinced herself it tickles. Whenever he concentrates on the arch, or on one of her toes, she squeezes her eyes shut. He knows she's trying her hardest to relax and enjoy it, but the infrequency of this act keeps her on the edge. Deciding it best to stop torturing her, he holds them both firmly in his hands and drums his fingers. Her expression changes. "You look rather contemplative," he says.

She smiles.

"I was just wondering about something."

"What's that?"

"No," she shakes her head.

"You won't tell me?"

"It's inappropriate."

"I'm interested."

She raises her chin and steals a glance out the window. Winter has come at last; a light snow is falling after unseasonably warm weather.

"Your hands are cold."

"They're always cold."

"I've noticed. I was just thinking about what that's like."

"What it's like?"

"Yeah."

He's confused.

"Haven't you ever felt cold before?"

"Yeah, of course, but you always feel cold. Unless we're…"

She watches a smile sneak up on him. "And you sweat."

"Yes."

"Does it ever go away?"

"The cold?"

"Yeah."

"No. But I'm able to forget about it for periods."

"It never stops?"

"No."

Her face grows concerned.

"What's that like?"

"I'm used to it. It isn't like anything for me."

"But you sweat."

"It's a cold sweat."

"Really? You feel warm to me."

"I suppose I would."

"What does it feel like, when you sweat?"

He looks out the window at the falling snow.

"Like waking up from a nightmare."

She doesn't know what to say. She follows his gaze. Together they look out at the city below. The snowflakes are fat now, clumped together. Everything is getting white. He turns his head. "But only when we stop."

She tucks her feet under his thigh. He rolls up one of her pant legs and caresses her calf.

"That sounds awful."

"It isn't really. I enjoy what we do. I'll gladly take whatever happens when it's over. It's better than before, when I was still…"

She looks down at her hands.

"Human," she says sadly.

He stares out the window. Soon the city is enveloped in a snow squall.

"Look at it out there," he says.

"Yeah."

"I thought winter would never come."

"You're talking about the weather."

"I don't know what else to talk about."

"Albert?"

"Yes?"

"I want to feel how you feel. That's what I was thinking about."

"You want to feel cold?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

She shrugs. He laughs lightly. "You're a curious thing."

"Are you mad?"

"No. Why would I be?"

"You don't think that's a little bit… like, exploitation?"

"You take yourself too seriously."

"What?"

"Anyone who has ever touched me has only done so because they want to know what it's like. It isn't due to any burning desire or fondness. It's a dare, an experiment. That's not exploitation. That's reality."

She's speechless.

"That's a terrible thing to say."

"Is it? Are you fond of me?"

"I don't know."

He pulls her pant leg down again.

"There. Come here, dear heart. Let me make it cold for you."

He gets up and holds out his hand to her. She doesn't know if she should accept. "Come," he says. She takes his hand. He pulls her up, leads her to the stairs. She follows him as he ascends. They enter his bedroom. He puts his hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to stand where she is. She watches what he does next.

He turns on the air conditioner. Full blast.

He opens the windows.

He pulls the sheets off the bed and tosses them into a corner.

She starts to shiver. "Come here," he says. "Let me fuck you."

She bounds over to him eagerly. He grabs her, pulls her shirt over her head, unhooks her bra, palms her naked breasts. Her nipples harden in the frosty air, beneath his touch. She buries her face in his neck, licking and sucking his skin, nips at his Adam's apple. She goes for the buttons of his shirt, almost rips them off, shoves his hands off her so she can pull the material from his torso, then goes for his belt. She unbuckles it, drops to her knees and dives for his fly. His pants slump to the floor and he kicks them aside. She pulls down his shorts, exposing his stiffened body to the chill. "Get up," he orders. "Get up, now."

She stands. He strips her of her pants and underwear. His hand reaches around her newly naked form and finds the folds of her entrance wet and wanting. He listens to her whimper as he slips his fingers inside her. He laughs. He holds her face still with his other hand, his thumb pressing into her cheek, and eyes her greedily.

"I can see your breath, Rebecca."

Her mouth is open. She's exhaling moist white clouds. Her breath falls on his collar, moistens the skin there. She reaches behind and puts her hand on his, driving his fingers deeper.

"Take your glasses off!"

"Beg me."

She raises a hand and slaps him, knocking them to the floor. The blow sears his cheek. His eyes closed, he smiles and savours the feeling. Then he opens them again, gold and red and savage, and glares at her. "Is that what you want?"

"I want you to look at me."

His fingers probe the depths of her body.

"Don't test me."

"Fuck me, Captain. I'm freezing."

Her voice is pained, vulnerable. He wraps both his arms around her, suddenly apologetic. He lifts her up. She's shivering.

"Put your legs around me."

She obliges. He takes hold of himself, guides himself inside her. She groans mercifully. Her back is facing the window; her silhouette is blue in the darkness. He feels her body quake when he's all the way in, grateful that he's granted her wish. He holds her with one arm and leans back, raising and lowering her down over him slowly, steadily. He starts to walk around the room. She's losing her sense of direction. "Hold on," he says.

She clings to him, both arms around his neck, pressing herself as close to him as she can. He feels her trembling form, feels her heart beating as fast as a rabbit's. He strolls over to the bed, thrusting inside her as he goes, and lays her down. The moon is shining full in the sky beyond the window, reflecting off the thickening snow, highlighting her body in white. He sits up between her legs and looks down at her. She's covered in perspiration. He trails his thumb along her skin from her pubis to her naval, brings it to his lips, tastes her sweat.

She's panting through her teeth from the cold. He presses his body against her, his ass rising and falling with each long, slow plunge. "Look at me," he says.

Their eyes meet. She isn't scared. She brings a hand to his face and touches his mouth gently. He kisses her fingers, closes his eyes and takes one into his mouth, sucks it before releasing it from his lips. He opens his eyes again and something grabs his attention. "Look," he says, pointing to his left. Rebecca turns her head and catches both their reflections in his mirror. "Watch me," he says, his hand still out. She watches him bend to her neck and kiss her softly, watches his arms fold in and wrap all the way around her. She sees him gazing down at her, sees that he's biting his lip and grunting as he slides in and out. She never noticed how graceful he is, how elegantly he moves. He murmurs something in her ear that makes her blush, runs his tongue over the lobe, nibbles it gently. "Yes?" he asks. "Yeah?"

She nods. He whispers something else.

"Oh god…"

"Yeah?"

He turns his head, catches her eyes in the glass, and smiles mischievously. "Can you still feel the cold?"

She beams back at his reflection.

"No," she says.

"Neither can I."

Entwined in each others' arms and legs, their fervent breath hanging in the icy air, they kiss each other until morning.

 **Twenty-two**

 _Albert drove William home one night._

 _They were working late, as usual. Nights at the mansion always seemed to drag into the wee hours of the morning. It wasn't the kind of job that started at nine and ended at five. A scientist goes home when his work is done. Sometimes he doesn't go home for a couple of days. There are showers at the facility for that very reason. William's car was in the shop. He asked Albert for a lift when they arrived at the heliport, as if it was nothing. Albert didn't want to know where his partner lived. He told William it would be alright, but only because he felt he had to._

 _"I'm leaving early tomorrow," William said to him after an extended silence._

 _"Okay."_

 _William waited for Albert to ask why, but he didn't._

 _"I've got a date," he said._

 _"Really?"_

 _"Yup."_

 _"That's nice."_

 _"Her name's Jen. She's kinda weird, but I like her."_

 _"Why are you going on a date with a weird girl?"_

 _"I need to get out every once in a while."_

 _"Well, good."_

 _They continued to drive. William rambled on about the latest trends, about advancements in home entertainment, about movies that had recently been released, about new albums and celebrity gossip. Albert wasn't used to him talking about things that weren't work related. William was very focused on his research, almost to the point of obsession. The difference between them, he discovered, was that William knew when to turn it off. Albert didn't; still, he found the babbling comforting._

 _Soon he pulled into the short driveway in front of William's apartment building. The concierge had left for the evening, and Albert could see through the large glass doors that the lobby was deserted. He looked at his watch. It was one thirty in the morning. William looked up and tried to see his floor from behind the passenger window. He turned to Albert and smiled, then opened the door. The light in the car came on. "Thanks for the lift. I'll ask Jen if she's got a friend for you."_

 _"Don't do that," Albert said._

 _"Why not? We could double date."_

 _"No, that's just… no."_

 _"Come on, Wes! You might enjoy yourself."_

 _"I don't need a blind date."_

 _"No one needs a blind date. It's just for fun."_

 _"Don't, seriously."_

 _William would never ask a girlfriend to set someone up with anyone, least of all with Albert. Albert, however, was under the impression that he would. William looked at him closely and saw that he was blushing._

 _"Are you a faggot, Wes?"_

 _"No!" Albert said, exasperated._

 _"Then what's up?"_

 _"Nothing!"_

 _"Where do you go at night, after work?"_

 _Albert looked at him, surprised that William didn't already know._

 _"Home," he answered._

 _William sighed, then shut the door to the car. "What are you doing?" Albert asked. William didn't respond. The overhead light eventually dimmed out, leaving them in darkness. "I just don't like blind dates."_

 _"Have you ever been on a blind date?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"With a girl?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"Was it that shitty?"_

 _"It was uncomfortable. I'd rather not repeat it."_

 _"Who set you up?"_

 _"I answered an ad."_

 _William grinned at the thought of Albert skimming the personals._

 _"How many times did you go out with her?"_

 _Albert shifted in his seat._

 _"Just once."_

 _"And you won't do it again?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Why not?"_

 _"Because I didn't know what to do."_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"I don't want to talk about this anymore."_

 _"Did she want to fuck you?"_

 _"Probably. I can't be sure. I don't know."_

 _"It wasn't a hooker, was it?"_

 _"Will!"_

 _"I'm kidding, I'm just kidding."_

 _"No blind dates. I'm too busy."_

 _"And you wouldn't know what to do anyway."_

 _William smirked at him. Albert ran his hand through his hair nervously._

 _"And I wouldn't know what to do anyway."_

 _They sat together for a moment._

 _"You've got to lighten up, Wes."_

 _His voice sounded closer. Albert turned his head. William was staring at him; a strange look was on his face, a look Albert didn't recognize. His brow furrowed._

 _"What?"_

 _William leaned towards him. "What?" he asked again. Instead of an answer, he felt William's lips press against his._

 _Albert uttered a small cry. A hand was placed on his thigh. He tried to shift away but another hand cupped his face, kept his chin steady. William's lips moved slowly, parted, caught Albert's mouth and held it. Albert could feel the early morning bristle of William's beard coming in. He kept his eyes open, looked past his partner and out the passenger window. He wished it was a girl sitting in the car with him at that moment. The mouth on his opened wider; eased Albert's open along with it. He could hear William's steady breathing. He didn't want to give any indication of how good it felt, and it did feel good, because he was being kissed by a man, but he closed his eyes and moaned softly in spite of himself. This was his first kiss._

 _He thought, I could do this, I guess. If this is all I get._

 _When William pulled away and Albert saw his reaction, the thought quickly soured. William's expression was one of extreme satisfaction, of a goal achieved. It was the same look he always got when one of his experiments went exactly according to plan. "Goodnight, Wes," he said. Without waiting for a response, he opened the passenger door and slid out of the car, then slammed it closed and headed to his apartment._

 _Albert never gave William a ride home again._

 **Twenty-three**

Rebecca is sitting in Claire's office. Papers are strewn all over the desk and piled up on the floor. Normally Rebecca would make a light-hearted joke about Claire's inability to file anything, but she doesn't. Instead she sits still and twists her fingers together.

Rebecca has just told her captain everything.

Claire's hands are folded. She's leaning her elbows on the desk, propping herself up. Throughout Rebecca's confession, if it can be called that, she decides it's best not to look the Alpha Medic in the eye, for fear she'll shut down. She keeps her eye on her thumbs, scrutinizing the tiny ridges in her skin. Her cuticles are dry. She needs hand cream.

"Jeez…"

Rebecca looks at the top of Claire's head. Claire tilts her chin up, but her gaze remains on her own hands. "Jeez." She can feel her eyebrows knitting together. She wipes her brow with the back of her hand, hoping Rebecca hasn't noticed. She finally looks up at her. "Are you alright?"

Rebecca's eyes start to water.

"No."

"How do you feel?"

Rebecca takes a very deep breath, tries to steady her voice.

"I'm scared."

"Why are you scared?"

"I'm… I'm afraid…"

She waves her hand and looks up at the ceiling.

"Rebecca… it's not your fault."

Rebecca starts sobbing. "Rebecca?" Claire says. "What happened isn't your fault."

"Shit…"

"It's called Stockholm Syndrome."

"It's not…"

Rebecca scratches the back of her neck with broken fingernails.

"You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

Rebecca cries harder. Claire isn't doing too well. She's too busy trying to comprehend what she's just heard. "Rebecca?"

"Captain… if the others find out…"

"It's none of their business."

"I want to help him…"

"You can't help him, Rebecca."

"I have to help him…"

Claire reaches across her desk and takes one of Rebecca's sweaty hands.

"Listen to me," she says. Rebecca looks away. "It's not your fault, do you understand that?"

"Claire…"

She squeezes Claire's hand. Their eyes meet. Rebecca's mouth appears to be smiling, laughing even; the miserable look in her eyes makes it clear that she isn't. "Don't tell the others, Claire. Don't tell Chris."

"What you've told me stays with me. You have my word."

"Chris will hate me forever… he'll hate me forever for this…"

"Chris is a very good man, Rebecca. I should know."

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"I enjoyed it… god…" Rebecca wipes her tears away with the back of her hand. Claire hands her the tissue box. "I enjoyed it so much…"

"Rebecca…"

"And I'm ashamed… because I can't tell anyone else I did."

"It's not your fault."

"You're talking about it like it's some horrible trick… like he tricked me. He didn't."

"I'm sure it seems that way."

"I wanted to, Claire. And it felt…"

"I know."

She doesn't.

"Where is he?"

"In a holding cell downstairs."

Rebecca sobs.

"Shit… I want to see him."

"That's not a good idea, Rebecca…"

"Please, Captain…"

"… because you'll hurt yourself. Do you understand? You'll hurt yourself."

Rebecca wipes her face. Claire is trying very hard not to judge. She knows people who are held prisoner for long periods of time can develop what they think is an emotional bond with their captors. She studied the Syndrome in the psychology classes she took to prepare for this position. She knows Rebecca's personality, her desire to help and heal, her affection for those who she believes have been judged unfairly.

But for fuck's sake… Wesker?

"I don't think you should see him until you've been looked after."

"You're going to turn him over."

"No I'm not."

"They'll kill him. They're gonna kill him."

"No one is going to kill him."

"Please don't tell Chris."

"I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Don't hurt him…"

"Who?"

"Albert…"

Claire swallows hard and sighs.

"No one's going to hurt him."

"Claire…"

"Yeah, honey?"

"He's not always… he's not… he was good to me."

"He had to be good to you."

"No he didn't, he told me. He…"

Claire leans back in her chair.

"Rebecca, you have to understand that he made a deal with us. We have something in our possession that can ultimately destroy him. He had to be good to you. And he chose to manipulate your kindness."

Claire knows that's not true. If she tells Rebecca the truth, however, they'll lose her.

Or she'll lose herself; whichever comes first.

Rebecca shakes her head.

"It's what he said…"

"Rebecca…"

"I wanted to, Claire. I asked him to. We had a fight and he said no, but we did it anyway because I asked him to."

"Chambers," Claire says.

Rebecca wipes her eyes and looks her captain in the face. "You need to get some sleep. You're exhausted. There's nothing else we can do tonight."

"Captain… you don't understand…"

"Whatever you have to explain can wait. Honey, you're exhausted. Alright? You need to go to sleep."

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"You didn't hurt anyone."

"If the others find out, they'll kill me. They won't understand…"

"Rebecca, this is entirely confidential."

"I have to help him…"

Claire can't go on.

"Please, Rebecca, you need rest. You're dismissed. I want you to go downstairs…"

There's a knock at Claire's office door. "Come in," she calls.

Jill pokes her head into the room.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Captain," she says warily.

"We're just finishing."

Jill looks at Rebecca. She's trying to hide the fact that she's been crying, but Jill can still tell.

"Captain, we just got another reconnaissance disk from Ada Wong."

Both Rebecca and Claire look at Jill.

"Ada Wong? When?"

"About ten minutes ago."

"How did we get it?"

"Leon went out to meet her…"

Claire's face grows anxious. "She asked him to."

"And he accepted?"

"Yes."

Claire nods gravely.

"Alright."

"Captain, there's information on that disk that I think you should see."

"I'm sure there is. Anything specific?"

"I don't know, I haven't had the chance to scan through it yet. But…"

Jill looks at Rebecca, whose cheeks are still flushed red, and stops.

Rebecca looks away.

 **Twenty-four**

Jill wants to take a shower. The hours and hours of sitting in front of the monitors have left her feeling gross. She turns off the DVD player and heads downstairs to her locker. She's happy she had the sense to pack her puff and shower gel this morning. She doesn't like using the soap the facility has provided them with. It makes her itchy. She uses her security card to gain access to the locker room in the basement. The ceilings are lower in this area of the building. Jill doesn't know what this room was used for before the organization took up residence here, but the former staff couldn't have been very tall.

Jill is surprised to see Chris sitting alone among the ugly, bright yellow locker doors. He's bouncing a tennis ball against the wall and catching it. "You always liked Steve McQueen," Jill says with a smile. He looks up at her and grins.

"Jilly," he says in recognition.

She walks over to him and sits down.

"What are you doing?"

"I just got the second recon disk from HUNK," he says.

"Did you give it to Claire?"

"Yeah. She's pissed at me."

"Nothing new."

"No, but, like, she's really pissed."

"What did she say?"

"She just said I need to cool it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't blame her."

"Some like it hot," Jill says.

He smiles wider. "Where's your hat, Jill?"

"I don't wear hats anymore."

"I liked your hat."

"You wore it more than I did."

He pats her thigh.

"Chilly Jilly. How's your job going?"

"I don't know. I don't even know what I should be looking for."

"That must suck."

"Yeah, it sucks."

"Hey…" he starts. "Do you think I'm an asshole?"

"Yeah, why?"

"No, seriously, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

He stares at the opposite wall.

"I just get… I get excited by stuff that's important to me, and it pisses people off. But I'm not doing it to be an asshole, you know? I'm doing it because it's right."

"You're a nutcase, Chris."

"I just hate the idea that people think I'm being difficult just for the sake of it. I… when something means a lot to me, I can't just let it rest. I have to fight."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I don't know. Is there… I don't mean to be."

"Chris, come on."

"Jill… I disobeyed that order because it was wrong. It was wrong. I got shit for it. You know, it didn't make anyone else think twice about what they were doing?" She puts her hand on top of his and gives it a squeeze. "I just talked to that HUNK guy, one of them anyway, and he's just so… okay with doing what he does. He says as long as he's taken care of it doesn't matter. You know, listening to him, that made a lot of sense. But it's wrong still. But I understood him."

"Just because you understand someone, doesn't mean their choices should be yours."

"No, I know that. Sometimes I wish I did think that way, though. It would make things easier."

"Chris, you're never easy."

She picks up his hand and brings it down on her thigh playfully.

"Jill?"

"Yeah."

"Are you ever gonna talk to me about what happened?"

She sighs. "I thought you'd bring that up."

He looks at her. Her face is turning red. "I wish you would."

For a while, she doesn't say anything. She starts counting the linoleum tiles, hoping that he'll stop looking at her. He doesn't.

"I have nightmares," she whispers.

"We all have nightmares."

"Not about the monsters. About you. About not being able to save you. About not being saved by you. Every time I have a bad dream, you're there."

"Shit," he says. He turns his head and looks at one of the lockers. Someone has given it a tremendous kick. It's dented. "Shit. Your psyche's against me."

She giggles in spite of herself. "I hate my psyche." She punches him in the arm.

"What, I give you fucking nightmares, what do you want me to think?"

"No." She looks at him and shakes her head. "No."

"I miss you," he says, staring at the locker and nodding slowly. "I do."

"I'm right here."

"That makes it worse."

She puts her hand through his hair and ruffles it. "I need a shower. What are you gonna do?"

"I was gonna take a shower."

"Serious?"

"Yeah."

"You go ahead then."

"No, that's alright."

"You got here first."

"You don't mind?"

"No, I'll wait."

He's looking at her. Then he lets go of her hand, pulls his shirt over his head, and stands up. She watches him. His chest is smooth, tanned. He's ripped. He bends over and unties his boots, kicks them off, pulls off his socks. Jill keeps watching. He keeps his eyes on her as he unbuttons his pants and slides out of them, slides out of his briefs. He stands in front of her, naked, waiting.

She looks up into his handsome face and knows she can't let him go.

"You coming?" he murmurs.

She stands up slowly.

"Yeah," she says.

"Good."

He puts his arm around her waist and drags her, fully clothed and laughing, into the shower with him. He turns on the faucet.

 **Twenty-five**

 _Eunice is standing at the counter in the institution's ugly, functional kitchen. The lighting is so bright it bleaches everything out. A collection of the kids' crayon drawings has been pinned up on the bulletin board. Little fingers have pulled out a lot of the cork, leaving holes behind. The linoleum is pale green and hasn't been replaced in a very long time. The floor is badly scuffed up. The windows have been adorned with light yellow curtains. There's a dying aloe vera plant on the sill._

 _Eunice is making cookies for tomorrow's snack time. She feels someone watching her as she stirs the batter and looks up. Albert is sitting on an orange plastic chair, gazing at her silently. At first Eunice is startled, but she quickly gets over it and smiles. "Albert, honey, why do you always have to sneak into a room like that? Why don't you ever say hello?"_

 _He smiles shyly._

 _"H'llo, ma'am Eunice."_

 _"Well don't just sit there, come on over here and help me mix up these cookies."_

 _She hears the crackle of static as Albert slips off the chair. He picks it up and carries it over to the counter, then kneels onto it to get a better view of what she's doing._

 _"What kinda cookies're those?" he asks._

 _"Peanut butter pecan. Old family recipe."_

 _"How old?"_

 _"Oh, very old. Even older than I am."_

 _"You ain't old."_

 _"I'm older than you are."_

 _"That ain't so old."_

 _"Albert, you're gonna make a girl a fine gentleman one of these days if you keep that up."_

 _She winks at him. He blushes and looks down at the wooden spoon in her hands._

 _Albert stays quiet as Eunice combines the rest of the ingredients. He stares at her hands as if he's mesmerized by them. Eunice is used to him remaining silent and watching her. She knows if she tells him to go outside and find someone to play with he won't listen. She also knows none of the other kids want to play with him either. It would only make things worse. She sighs as she finishes off the recipe, then looks at him. His hands are propped up under his chin. He grins._

 _She pushes the bowl of cookie dough over to him. "Now, don't tell anybody I taught you this, because it's a filthy, filthy habit, but you go on and pick up that spoon over there." Albert recognizes the conspiratorial tone in her voice. She's about to share a secret with him; Eunice's secrets are always fun. He picks up the spoon. She's holding one of her own. "Now get a little bit of that batter on it. Not too much." She dips her spoon into the bowl, and he copies her. She smiles at him. "Now taste it."_

 _Albert wriggles his nose. "It's not gonna kill you, dear heart, I promise. Watch."_

 _Eunice puts the dollop of cookie dough into her mouth._

 _Albert starts giggling. He wants to copy her, but he can't get the idea of eating something unbaked out of his head. Cautiously, he touches his tongue to the batter. "Go on, try it."_

 _Albert puts the spoon into his mouth. She's right. It's very good. "There, you see? Still alive, aren't you?"_

 _Albert is about to say something when he catches sight of a familiar face outside, passing by the window._

 _In a flash, he's gone._

 _A man soon pokes his head through the kitchen door. He's tall and portly; his face is red and sweaty, and he's lost most of his hair. Though he's relatively relaxed, he's breathing heavily. "Afternoon, Mrs. Johnson."_

 _"Afternoon, sir," she says coolly. She knows what he wants, and it burns her up._

 _"You haven't seen Albert hanging around here, have you?"_

 _"He was here a few minutes ago, sir."_

 _"You know where he's got to?"_

 _"No idea. He just took off running."_

 _The man nods gravely, his mouth in a tight line._

 _"Alright, thank you, ma'am."_

 _He leaves. Eunice sighs._

 _"There he is," the fat man says to his associates. They turn their heads and catch a fleeting glimpse of Albert at the end of the narrow hallway as he tries to sneak by. Soon they're in hot pursuit. The boy runs away from them. He's much faster than they are. Normally he wouldn't sprint directly to his room, but he took a turn out of habit and realized it was the only place left to run. When he arrives, he slams the door shut, pulls out the chair from his desk, and props it under the door knob, then makes a break for the window. He's just about to open it all the way when the men come bursting in._

 _He doesn't have time to think about why it only works in the movies._

 _The men dive for him and haul him back in. The fat man tries to encourage him. "Now, now, Albert, come on, it's for your own good."_

 _Albert starts struggling._

 _"Get offa me!"_

 _He kicks one of them swiftly in the gut. He's certainly strong for his age. Albert sees there are four of them this time. Last time there were three. Next time, there will be more._

 _Two of them try to pin his arms down. "Get offa me!" he screams._

 _"'Get offa me! Get offa me!'" he hears voices mocking him, coming from outside._

 _The other kids are listening again. They're laughing._

 _Furious, he twists around and belts his chief antagonist square in the face. The man grunts and backs off, holding his nose._

 _"Come on, now, Albert," he says, trying to sound reasonable. It ends up sounding like a growl anyway. "It's not gonna hurt."_

 _He's lying._

 _It will._

 _"Lemme alone, goddammit!"_

 _"Get him by the throat," one of the more reserved aggressors suggests. "That'll get him to quit." Another one obliges and seizes the boy's neck, yanking him around and shoving him up against the wall. Two others secure his arms. Albert's feet can hardly touch the ground. He tries to scream louder, but his air supply is being choked out of him._

 _"Lemme go, you son of a bitch!" he screeches._

 _"Watch your mouth, boy."_

 _He hears the snap of something elastic._

 _They're tying off his arm._

 _His eyes start to water. He can't breathe._

 _"Get offa me!"_

 _"Boy, this would be a whole lot easier if you didn't fight so damn much." They succeed in securing the surgical rubber band with a large, unyielding knot._

 _He sees the needle out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't have the air left to yell. Instead, he starts to cry without a sound._

 _The man grips Albert's throat tighter. The boy's blue eyes are open in terror, his face bright red. His struggling is useless. He watches helplessly as the needle is prepared._

 _"It's for your own good, Albert, you just remember that."_

 _Still pinned to the wall, they stick the needle in his arm and administer the injection._

 _When it's over they release him abruptly; he falls to the floor, coughing, gasping for air, and curls up into a ball. The fat man with the red face regains his composure and stands over him. One of the others addresses him. "That's all you do, sir, is get him by the throat next time he puts up a fuss. That'll keep him quiet."_

 _"Thank you," the fat man replies, "I'll remember that." He bends down and removes the surgical band. "You hear that, Albert? Next time you try that you'll get more of the same, so you just better start accepting things as a part of life. You hear me?"_

 _Albert can't hear him. The serum is starting to take effect. His body is going cold._

 _"He's not gonna answer you, sir."_

 _"Well, just leave him be. He'll be alright."_

 _Albert starts to shudder. One of the men draws the curtain before they depart, leaving the boy lying on the floor._

 _Albert closes his eyes and waits for the pain to end._


	6. Chapter 6

**Twenty-six**

He's been going down on her for over an hour. He won't stop. He can't help it. It's the way she mewls like a kitten before she orgasms. It drives him crazy. Every time she comes he savours it, keeps going so she'll do it again. She protests, shakes her head, her hair tangling as she leans back against the pillows, struggles a little. But he puts his bare hand on her stomach and caresses her skin with his tongue, traces her naval gently with his fingers, and moans softly. It's his way of begging her to let him continue.

"Captain?"

"Mmmm…"

"Aren't you tired?"

She looks down from where he's piled the pillows behind her head. He peeks up over her belly and grins.

"I don't get tired, Miss Chambers."

He holds her gaze from behind his glasses, opens his mouth, and licks her again. She wiggles her hips and grabs onto the sheets, grips them tightly.

"Oh…"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Oh god…"

Rebecca turns her head and catches sight of the clock across the room. It's four thirty in the morning. Her eyelids are heavy. She's tired, but his mouth refuses to let her sleep. He snuck into the room and climbed on top of her just as she was about to doze off. At first she was disoriented, not knowing what he was up to. She put her hand through his hair affectionately. He has never stolen into the bedroom like this, opting instead to allow her the privacy she needs. But tonight he pulled the sheets away and she was too sleepy to resist. He pulled off her pyjama shorts, but left her top on. Then he wet his lips as he parted her legs and leaned into her, pushing his tongue deep at the top of his grateful inhale.

"Captain…"

"Mmmm?"

"You drive me nuts."

He laughs, his seductive tenor enticing her to relax.

"Mm-hmm?"

"Softly…"

"Mmmm…" he purrs.

"Oh god…"

She was asking him questions earlier; questions he was finding increasingly difficult to answer. She doesn't seem to understand that she can't possibly know everything about him. There's too much to tell, too much he can't explain. She won't try to see it his way. When she's in the right mood she pesters him. He knows how necessary it is to deny her. Tonight, he felt he was a bit too harsh when he told her she needed to stop.

He felt he had to make it up to her.

He looks up at her. Her eyes are closed. She's rolling her head from side to side. This is how he knows she's enjoying it. She'll gladly make herself dizzy. There's no other way for her body to move. If she moves too much he holds her hips steady, commanding her to keep still so he can lick her as fully as he desires. If she raises her legs too high he'll push them back, pin her against the bed, and stare down at her with a smile until she begs him to keep going. She's learned it's as much for his pleasure as hers.

"Captain…"

She's going to ask him again.

"Miss Chambers."

"Captain, please…"

"Lay back, Miss Chambers."

"Albert…"

"Do as I say."

She sighs and relaxes into the mattress, delighting in the feeling of his lips and tongue. He steals a glance at her and remembers the kinds of questions she wanted answers to. He can't give away too much. The few answers he did give were guarded, shady. She wasn't getting the message. Now, between her legs, he pictures what would happen if he were to strike her, choke her, force her away. There's something about her, her taste, her voice, that won't allow him to be nasty, even if it is for the greater good.

For some reason, she trusts him.

Lost in her perfume, he starts to daydream. He doesn't know why she's taken to him. Her willingness to put aside what she knows of him, to let him do this to her, is at once alluring and daunting. He wonders what goes through her mind when he's giving her head, when her green eyes are closed, her lips are parted, and she's trying as hard as she can to fall over the edge. He wants to know if she's thinking of him, or of someone else she knew a long time ago.

A pang of jealousy shoots through him, and he licks her harder.

"Why weren't you a virgin when I met you?" he asks.

She laughs.

"Why is that important?"

"I would have loved to have been your first."

"Were you a virgin when I met you?"

"No."

"Really…"

He smiles at her tone.

"How many men have you slept with?"

"A few."

"How many?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to know how many men I have to make you forget."

Her cheeks flush.

"Oh god…"

"My, my, Miss Chambers…"

She tosses her head to one side. He can see the muscles in her legs tense. "I think you're gonna come again, aren't you?"

"Oh…"

"Aren't you?"

"Yes…"

"Mm-hmmm?"

She raises her hips, and he doesn't stop her. She comes, full and strong, and cries out his name. One of her hands dips down and seizes one of his. He feels her grip tighten as her orgasm reaches its pinnacle, then slowly fades away, leaving gentle ripples of pleasure behind. Her body is left shaken, her skin goose-pimpled, an arm thrust into the pile of pillows above her head. She gasps for breath, and he finally allows her a moment's rest. He watches her chest rising and falling, the thin material of her pyjama top barely disguising her breasts. Her eyes closed, she purrs happily.

He can't help but feel guilty.

He prowls up the length of her body until they're face to face. "Rebecca…"

"Captain…"

"Albert."

"Albert."

"Don't trust me, Rebecca. Never let your guard down for a second."

"Albert…"

"Don't believe a word I say. Don't let me hurt you."

She rises, balancing herself on her elbows.

"Why are you…"

He reaches out and gently takes hold of her chin.

"Rebecca," he says, lowering his gaze behind the dark lenses. "You're so different from the girl I knew all those years ago."

"I'm older."

"You're dangerous."

"What?"

She's confused. He starts to ease down on her again. She tries to shimmy out of the way, but he grabs her hips and roughly pulls her back to where she was.

"Don't move."

"It's five in the morning."

"I've got all night."

She giggles.

"Albert, no…"

She's going to ask me again.

He decides to switch tactics, to scare her, to keep her from getting hurt, and looks up.

"What did you say to me?"

He locks her in his sight and doesn't let go.

"Albert…"

"Did you say 'no' to me?"

She doesn't know if she's safe anymore, but she is.

He takes his glasses off; his golden eyes aflame. "The only time I want to hear you say 'no', Miss Chambers, is when I ask if you've had enough. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she replies, breathless.

"You're mine now. Do you understand?"

She nods. He wishes he could explain, could shelter her from everything evil that he is, but he can't. "Dear heart…" he says in spite of himself, his lips roaming over the velvet skin of her inner thighs.

"Albert…"

"Why do you ask me questions I can't answer?"

"You can answer them. You just won't."

"Let me make it up to you."

"Do you, Albert?"

He finds the spot she loves and massages it with his tongue. She arches her back, trying desperately to reach him. "Tell me."

"Don't ask me again," he murmurs.

"Answer me…"

"Shh…"

He blows lightly on her moist skin, then puts his hand on her stomach, parts his lips, moans gently, and starts all over again. She has no choice but to let it go.

 **Twenty-seven**

The only other person who has read the full report is Jill. Chris keeps looking over at her, trying to figure out the story before the meeting begins, hoping to get a hint from Jill's face. Her expression is blank. She's very tired.

Leon and Claire are sitting next to each other at one of the fold out tables. Leon's arms are crossed. He pokes Claire with his pinkie finger. She turns and looks at him, smiling. He smiles back at her. They finally made up the other day.

Cumberland is holding the report. Claire told him he would be the one to tell the rest of the team. She thinks it's fitting, given who Cumberland is. She also didn't have the time to format anything for Hollum. That's what she told Cumberland, anyway.

"Well, this is pretty serious stuff," he starts. Jill looks down at her boots. "I don't know how you guys are going to take hearing this. It, uh… it might make you uncomfortable." Everyone chuckles under their breath.

Nothing makes them uncomfortable anymore.

"Okay," he takes a deep breath. "This report is based on everything I've been able to compile from Umbrella's database so far about Albert Wesker. There's a lot more information I need to sift through, but I've basically pieced together most of his past. Right," he flips to the first page.

"Albert Wesker was brought to the orphanage in rural Germany in 1960 when he was nine days old. His exact heritage is unknown, but he was thought to be of either Danish or Belgian decent. It's not known who committed him to the institution, whether it was his biological parents or some other relative, but he was given his name by those running the facility and raised German. This particular orphanage was notorious for how poorly it treated its children. Complaints were brought against them from as far back as 1952, but for some reason they were never shut down. The children were malnourished and often subjected to torture and abuse by those who were charged to care for them. In 1967 the patron of the orphanage died, effectively putting an end to their funding. The children were facing life in another facility, or on the streets, when a half brother of the patron who was living in the States came forth and offered to sponsor the children and bring them to the U.S. Of the eleven children at the orphanage, six were claimed by other family members living in Germany, and five were sent to the States, Albert Wesker being one of them.

"The five remaining orphans were placed in temporary foster homes upon their arrival. Three were under the age of two and were adopted within three months. The other child was adopted within six months of arrival. Wesker proved to be a difficult child to care for by his foster family. He didn't speak any English and didn't appear to want to learn. He was also exhibiting behaviour that was consistent with someone who has endured severe emotional trauma. Wesker was brought to a child psychologist working in the state of South Carolina. The psychologist confirmed that the boy was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, and stated that the child had been both physically and psychologically abused for most of his life."

Cumberland stops speaking, reaches down and picks up a glass of water. He takes a grateful swig. It's so quiet, everyone can hear him swallow.

"Wesker was made an official ward of the State of South Carolina when it became apparent he would be a challenge to raise, during which time he learned to speak English fluently. His considerable IQ was discovered during a routine psychiatric examination. To say the child was simply "gifted" was a gross understatement. The boy had an extensive knowledge of science and mathematics at a very early age. He also demonstrated genius in tactical exercises conducted by the State. However, he was withdrawn and socially awkward, had little to no knowledge of how to behave in larger groups of people including other children, and possessed a frightening mean streak whenever he felt threatened.

"Wesker remained in the care of the State until he reached eighteen, the age of maturity, at which point he was put into contact with Oswell Spencer. Spencer had his eye on Wesker during his years as a ward, and felt the boy's intelligence would benefit Umbrella significantly, so he hired him upon his release from the State, pairing him up with another young researcher, William Birkin, who was two years his junior."

The team remains silent. Cumberland knows he has to keep talking. "Now, again, there's a lot more in these files I have to comb through. Like, it mentions something about Wesker receiving steroid injections between the ages of twelve and sixteen, but there's no cause noted for the shots." He looks up. Everyone is shell shocked. "Is everyone alright?"

Jill is staring at a corner of the room that's particularly dusty. She realizes she's never seen a janitor in the building, ever.

Leon is staring at Claire's elbow.

Claire is thinking that maybe she should have been the one to read the report to the team.

Chris is shaking his head. "Bullshit," he says at last. "I don't believe a fucking word of it."

"This is all based on files retrieved from Umbrella's database," Cumberland says, shocked. "I assure you it's fact."

"Who knows when those files were written, or who they were written by? You're telling me you have no problem with trusting information from Umbrella?"

"It's not like these things were planted. You retrieved them yourselves. You shut them down."

"They could have been planted."

"These files weren't planted," Cumberland says. "I'm telling you, this is Wesker's past."

"What, do you expect me to feel sorry for him?"

"No, I…"

"You expect everyone in this room to feel sorry for him? After he's tried to kill us? Knowing he's responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent people? I don't believe it. Not a word. All I know is he hates each and every one of us, and he wants us dead. Period. And the longer we keep that database around, the greater danger Rebecca's in. The greater danger we're all in."

"What are you suggesting?" Cumberland asks.

"We were supposed to destroy it."

"What?" Cumberland looks at Claire. "Captain, that goes against…"

"I know," Claire says.

Chris looks at his sister.

"We're not supposed to destroy it?"

"No."

"I thought we were brought in to search and destroy," Jill says.

"Our official orders are to retrieve Umbrella's main database."

"You said destroy," Chris says.

"The order was changed to 'retrieve'."

Everyone looks at Claire. They don't know what to say.

"When?"

"Three weeks ago."

"Were you planning on telling us?" Leon asks.

"Eventually, yes."

"Captain," Cumberland says. She looks at him. "Hollum gave me express orders to turn the files over to him when I've completed a full report. I'm almost finished."

"No you're not."

"What the hell is going on?" Jill demands.

"Listen to me carefully, Cumberland, and all of you," Claire says, looking at each of her team mates. "My orders are to retrieve Umbrella's database and turn it over to Hollum after completing a full report. Cumberland, you won't be finished that report for weeks. The rest of you, you don't know anything about the database. For all you know, Captain Redfield took the files upon successfully completing the mission. Nothing else."

"You're going to double cross Hollum?" Cumberland asks.

"I'm going to do what's right," she says. "That's what I'm gonna do." She looks at Chris. "No matter who gets pissed off." She smiles at him. He smiles back.

That's the Claire he knows.

"You're gonna have to explain this to me," he says, shaking his head. "Because I'm totally confused."

"If it'll help get everyone's mind off what we just heard," she says. Jill and Chris nod.

Leon stays perfectly still.

 **Twenty-eight**

 _Ada strolls around the control room as if she owns the place. She's even cocky enough to run her finger over the tops of the equipment to check for dust. She doesn't find any. She hasn't been in the same room with him for a long time. They have a particular routine; he contacts her, asks her to complete whatever mission he has deemed worthy of attention, she does, and he compensates her. Then she reports everything he's said and done back to the organization, and they compensate her too. It's win-win._

 _Wesker is sitting in a large chair, finishing up some rather impressive looking reconnaissance work on the large projection screens. He's engrossed in what he's doing. Ada rolls her eyes and tries as hard as she can to be patient. She knows she can't hurry him. He'll remain silent until he's ready to hold an audience with her, whether she likes it or not. His gloved fingers operate the controls deftly; the leather is black and skin tight. Ada wants a pair just like them._

 _"Now then," he says. He turns around, still seated, and faces her. "There are some things I'd like to go over with you."_

 _"A post-mortem?" she replies. "That's not like you."_

 _"Perhaps it isn't. But I'm in the mood. I'm in rather a good mood, actually, thanks to you."_

 _Ada smiles and lowers her gaze coquettishly. "You performed quite admirably. I wanted you to know how much I appreciated it."_

 _"Wesker, you surprise me."_

 _"Do I?"_

 _She leans against a machine that's humming away. It's projecting an image of Leon Kennedy onto a wide glass screen._

 _Ada catches a whiff of something spicy in the air and realizes Wesker is wearing cologne. The smell intrigues her. She didn't think he'd be the type to bother with toiletries. He puts the tips of his fingers together and lowers his chin. "You handled things very professionally, just as I expected. It's rare to find an associate who's so dedicated to the task at hand."_

 _"I aim to please."_

 _"You succeed. Time and time again."_

 _There's something more to this meeting, but she can't quite put her finger on what. He seems more relaxed than usual. Of course, they're not in the middle of a mission; now would be the time for small talk. But she's never known him to be one for small talk. She called the organization earlier and told them he had requested a special meeting with her later on that day. They told her to gather whatever information she could. No doubt it would prove to be invaluable. Her eyes and ears are wide open._

 _"I often wonder how you manage to survive these missions I send you on."_

 _"I'm good at what I do. That's why you work with me."_

 _"Yes. And you're always so eager to answer my beck and call. I never catch you at a bad moment."_

 _"I don't have bad moments, Wesker."_

 _He chuckles._

 _"No, you've proven that."_

 _She smiles at him. "But I can't help but think that perhaps you're a little too willing to play these games."_

 _"I just can't say no to you," she says lightly. "You saved my life."_

 _"Yes, I did."_

 _Ada tries to see his eyes past his glasses. She's going to play her next move._

 _She's about to make an extremely bad error in judgement._

 _She saunters over to where he's sitting, curious to see what his reaction will be when she pulls this certain ace from her sleeve. "I've never forgotten it."_

 _"No?"_

 _"I think about it almost every day."_

 _Her eyes flit up to the image of Leon on the screen._

 _"Who knows where you would have ended up?"_

 _"I owe you my life, Wesker. I know that."_

 _She straddles him. He doesn't move. "I've never been able to really make up for it." She leans into him, her lips parted, her eyes searching his face. "Would you like it if I did?"_

 _"Perhaps I would."_

 _"I know I would…"_

 _She presses her lips against his, kisses him, then peers at him through her thick black lashes. For a moment, she almost fools him. Then he notices the look that very briefly flashes across her face as she kisses him again._

 _He's seen that look before._

 _So he opens his mouth, collects her bottom lip between his, and savagely sinks his teeth into her._

 _Ada screams in pain and pulls away, leaping off his lap. He smiles and wipes her blood away. "Try that again, Ms. Wong, and I'll bite it off."_

 _"Shit…"_

 _"The sample you gave me, Ada. I know it was a fake."_

 _Her heart stops. "That's why you're here."_

 _"I don't know…"_

 _"Yes you do. Your organization told you to give me a decoy."_

 _"What organization?"_

 _"You're playing stupid. It doesn't become you."_

 _She stares at him. It's the first time he's ever seen her truly afraid. "That's a fine way to repay me for saving your life."_

 _There's nothing she can do. He knows he's got her._

 _"I guess my time is up now, huh?" she says._

 _"Not quite." He grins at her with straight, white teeth._

 _The song "Mack the Knife" pops into her head. She used to like it; up until this point._

 _"I hate it when we fight, Ada," he says. She can detect the tone of mockery in his voice. "Don't you think it's time you worked for me alone?"_

 _She's slowly moving her hand to the gun in her holster._

 _"I can't do that."_

 _"I don't think you have a choice. Your organization won't take you back now."_

 _"Why not?"_

 _"Because they're dead, Ada."_

 _She fights a sudden wave of nausea with everything she has. "They're dead. Every last one of them."_

 _He lets his words wash over her before continuing. "I despise being taken for a fool. I despise knowing that there are some very, very stupid people out there who think they can manipulate me. I tolerated your little game of spy versus spy because I thought it was cute. But when I was deliberately given the wrong sample, after all I did to get you in and out, I decided my patience was at an end."_

 _Ada can't move, can't speak. "Try calling your superiors if you don't believe me. Report my whereabouts to them. Go on."_

 _She leaves her PCD at her side._

 _"You killed them?"_

 _"Normally I hate getting my hands dirty. But this was a matter of pride."_

 _"All of them?"_

 _"All of them."_

 _The bile rises in the back of her throat._

 _"What about S?"_

 _"What about S?"_

 _"You were in contact with them…"_

 _"Oh yes. Yes."_

 _He takes his glasses off. She's finding it difficult to breathe. She knows what he's about to say. "They're all dead too. Curious thing, that."_

 _"Shit…"_

 _He stands suddenly. She jumps and starts to back away, but it's useless. There's nowhere to run to anyway. Not in this room. "Poor, dear Ada. What are you going to do now? You can't return to the organization. You can't join S to keep me from taking over. You've run out of options." He stands close to her and speaks into her ear. "You can always come with me, you know."_

 _"Why would you take me back?" she asks, her voice betrayed by her own quickened breath._

 _He bends down and runs his nose along her skin, from her shoulder to her neck._

 _"Because I like your smell, Ada. You always smell so nice."_

 _In fact, he can't smell her at all. He simply enjoys the look on her face._

 _It's so much better than the one he saw before._

 _"Are we agreed, Ms. Wong?"_

 _Ada looks up at the screen. For the first time in a long time, she can actually taste the bitterness of regret._

 _"Agreed," she says._

 _"Good. Because I've got just the right assignment for you in mind."_

 **Twenty-nine**

 _She's mad._

 _Really mad._

 _Shit._

Leon steps into Claire's office. She's standing next to the water cooler and holding a paper cup. She doesn't turn around when she hears him enter. That's how he knows. Claire always smiles at him when she sees him; it's a reflex. She's not smiling now.

"You didn't show up," she says.

"I was…"

"Kennedy?" She gives him a look that suggests he keep quiet. He stops. "When I asked you if you wanted to be a part of this mission you said yes. You say yes, you take it seriously. You understand?"

"I'm taking this seriously, I assure you."

"No you're not. You miss an important meeting like that, no you're not."

"I apologize, Captain Redfield," he says.

Claire hates hearing him call her that.

"Where were you?"

"Is that important?"

"Yes."

"No it isn't."

"Yeah it is," she says, nodding vigorously, her brow furrowed. "Yeah it is."

"At a motel."

"With who?"

"Claire…"

Her look dares him to say something, something she thinks he's wanted to say for a while. "What I do on my off time is my business."

"Not when it conflicts with my time."

"I'm here because you asked me to be here."

"So you don't have to give a shit."

She strides forward. He doesn't flinch. "What about Rebecca?"

"You're mad about Rebecca, or you're mad because you know who I was with?"

Claire doesn't have time to consider which statement is right.

"She's in direct contact with the man who's holding Rebecca hostage. I'm glad to know where your loyalties lie." She faces him. "And who they lie with"

Leon smirks at the zinger.

"Claire."

"I don't understand you," she says. "You're not the same guy."

"You expected me to be the same guy, huh? After all that time? People change."

"I didn't."

"Sure you did. You're not the same girl. You're tougher now."

Claire looks at her desk. It's getting messy again. She should really keep up with her filing.

"I don't know what you see in her."

Leon sighs. She glares at him. "She lied to you. She betrayed you. Twice, actually, from what I understand. And the first chance you get… you go running back to her. And you forget why we're here in the first place."

"And you haven't?"

"No, I haven't."

"Then why are you so angry with me? Shouldn't you be keeping your mind on why we're here instead?"

"Because you've wasted my goddamn time today, fraternizing with the enemy!"

"I don't work for you, Claire. I work for the United States government. I answer to the President."

"I knew you'd say that. Fuck you."

"Claire, come on…"

Claire storms out of the office. Leon doesn't hesitate; he follows her down the hall. "Claire! Come on!" She's not listening. She fiercely pushes open one of the large swinging doors, turns a corner, and almost bumps into Jill, who's poking her head out of the A/V room.

"Claire?"

Claire ignores her. She hears Jill ask Leon what's going on.

"Don't ask," Leon replies.

He pursues Claire to the end of the hallway and through another set of doors.

Claire ends up in the locker room in the basement. Leon catches up with her as she turns around. "If you didn't want to be a part of this mission, why did you say yes?"

"Because someone has to stop them."

"You feel guilty, don't you? Just quitting like that?"

"A little, yeah."

"So you're not doing this because you feel any loyalty for me, huh? You're here because you've got a fucking guilt complex."

"Do you want me to agree with you?" he says, his voice getting louder. "I will if you want me to."

"Look, Leon, I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry it was your first night on the force. I'm sorry you had to face a lot of it alone. I'm sorry it wasn't me who played victim and lied to you, I'm sorry I didn't pretend to be vulnerable so you could play hero. I'm sorry I wasn't wearing the red dress, and I'm very sorry it wasn't me who held a gun to your head and kissed you goodbye. I've always been on the level with you, but you don't seem to give a shit about that. It's not thrilling enough."

"Don't say that, Claire."

"She did such a good fucking job, you still think she's helpless. You still want to protect her, after all that she's done to you."

"You don't understand."

"I understand. She dresses the part. Good. After she stabs you in the back, she can take you out for drinks."

Claire turns around and kicks one of the lockers so violently it leaves an enormous dent.

Leon lets her pace around. He knows a lot of what she's saying is right. But there's so much more, and he can't get into it. Claire stops and stares at the floor.

"Claire?"

"What?" she mutters.

He walks over to her. She backs away from him. He keeps advancing until she's leaning up against the lockers. He puts his arms around her, leans into her so their bodies are pressed together in a very warm, intimate hug.

"Why do you care so much about me?"

Claire looks over his shoulder. There's a gym bag on a bench across the room. She doesn't know whose it is.

"Because you won't die," she says at last, on the verge of tears. "Because no matter what happens, you always survive. And you'll come back home."

Leon holds her tighter.

"Are you talking about who I think you're talking about?" he whispers.

Claire nods.

It still hurts.

"He didn't make it..." she croaks.

"What makes you think I will?"

"You will."

Leon kisses her cheek.

"I might not."

"Don't say that."

She holds on to him until she's fought off the urge to cry, then pulls away. He smiles at her.

"Claire Bear. Captain Claire Bear."

She tries not to grin, but it doesn't work. He chuckles. "See? You're a tough cookie." Then his face grows serious. "It was stupid of me to miss the meeting. And irresponsible. I won't disappoint you again, I promise."

Claire folds her arms. She's cold now that she's let go. She shivers.

"Right. Don't call me Captain when we're alone."

"Alright."

He moves to put an arm around her. She ducks out of the way and heads for the door, leaving him standing alone.

 **Thirty**

He'll only kiss her.

Nothing more than that.

They're draped across the right-handed chaise. Rebecca is beneath him. Every so often she opens her eyes and steals a glimpse of him, of his pale cheek, his chiselled jaw. She can't tell whether his eyes are open or not. His lips are cool and soft. He keeps her face tilted up with one bent finger under her chin. He kisses her gently, as if he's pinching honey from the comb.

She doesn't know how this happened, when it snuck up on her. Every minute she spends with him like this is a betrayal of her friends, of herself. She remembers that night, all those years ago, when he almost ended her life without a second thought. She thinks of how callous he was, how cruel, and knows she should push him away now, before he takes more than her pleasant dreams with him.

But she can't.

His arms encircle her and he opens his mouth, deepens his kiss with his tongue. At first it surprises her, the way he eases it into her mouth so boldly, and with such poise. Her eyes open as he tips his head to one side; they close again when she feels how soft and smooth the muscle is. She wonders if he's concerned about her perceptions of him now, since this is the first time he's ever turned off his PCD to lie down on top of her and kiss her.

He doesn't want to be interrupted.

He bends one leg and inches further up her body, his breath intensifying with every moment that passes. She can hear the delicate, wet sounds of his lips kissing hers. One arm slides down her back when she arches her hips against him. One of his hands caresses her ass. He squeezes her tenderly, his fingers tracing little circles over her track pants. Then he slowly moves his head left, right, left, right, as if he's saying 'no' but meaning 'yes'.

All the while, he's touching and tasting Rebecca.

His PCD starts beeping. Someone wants to get in touch with him. He ignores it and it eventually stops. After a moment, it starts again. "Shouldn't you…" she begins.

"No."

"Maybe it's important."

"It isn't."

"How do you know?"

He brushes her lips lightly with his. She opens her eyes just as he smiles. It's the kind of smile she didn't think he was capable of. He looks as though he can't believe his own good luck. Eventually the beeping stops.

"How old are you?" she asks.

He shakes his head, still smiling. "You haven't aged. You look exactly the same."

"So do you."

"I have four grey hairs."

"Yes?"

"You don't have any."

He bends down and finds a particularly tender spot beneath her ear.

Rebecca wants to forget, if only so she can enjoy this more. She knows the man on top of her is the same man who shot her almost a decade ago. She knows he would have gladly killed even more of her friends if his plan hadn't ended so abruptly, so dramatically. She was briefed on him before they began their mission. She was warned. Everyone was warned.

He took off his gloves, though, and his hands were perfect. They felt so good holding her face. She felt their strength, even as they were trying to be gentle.

It's been too long since she felt that.

He props himself up on his elbows and gazes down at her. She can tell he's searching her face, trying to figure out whether this is a dream or not. He's close enough that she can smell his cologne. She sees the forbidden space at his throat between the open buttons of his shirt.

That's what she wants.

"Hey?"

"Yes?"

She can tell their eyes have met, regardless of the shades.

"Can I touch you?"

He doesn't say anything. She waits, but he doesn't answer.

So, without his permission, she reaches up and gently strokes the hollow of his neck with trembling fingers.

He doesn't move. Rebecca looks up at him. Encouraged, she lays her hand against his cheek, runs her thumb over his lips. She can't tell if he's angry or not, but he's not stopping her. His skin is cool and satiny. She's taken aback.

How can someone so terrible have such nice skin?

Her hand smooths over his face, over his ear. He briefly hears the ocean in her palm before her fingers find and tug lightly on his earlobe.

Maybe he's waiting to bite me. Like a shark.

She glides her hand down the length of his neck. When she reaches his collar, her thumb falls lazily to the side, cupping his throat.

He seizes her wrist.

"I'm sorry…" she says as a wave of panic descends.

"Not there."

"Huh?"

"Not there."

"Okay."

"Touch my face. I like that."

The PCD starts to beep again. Rebecca's eyes dart over to where it's lying on his desk. He's not making a move to answer it.

"Someone really wants to…"

She can't finish her sentence. He's collected her in another exquisite embrace, his lips on hers, his tongue, his merciful sighs.

"Touch my face," he says between kisses. "I like that."


	7. Chapter 7

**Thirty-one**

Claire is sitting in Cumberland's office. Ever since she exerted her authority over him that one night he's been more than compliant. Though she's their captain, the others still treat her as one of their friends, their equal. Normally she would prefer it that way, but not when she disagrees with the direction in which they want to take the mission. That's when she puts her foot down and tells them what they need to do. Every time she's placed in that situation, every time she's required to treat her friends as subordinates, she's uncomfortable. They can hear it in her voice, and it doesn't inspire confidence. This is why she checks up on Dr. Cumberland. He's afraid of her. She needs that on occasion.

Cumberland is holding a binder. In it is his report on what he's discovered about Albert Wesker's blood. He's flipping through the pages, trying to decide on what to tell Captain Redfield so that she can get the gist of his findings. He knows if he were to hand her the entire report she'd be able to decipher it, but not any time soon. His handwriting is atrocious. He should have typed everything. There simply wasn't enough time.

She's bending over him. He looks up at her. "I never thought I'd get the chance to do something like this."

"What do you mean?"

"This is… this vial, this blood is like… the holy grail."

"I'm glad you're getting such a kick out of the collateral for Rebecca's life."

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to be insensitive."

Claire knows what his intentions were, but the line just popped into her head, and timing is everything.

"What have you found out?" she says, ignoring his apology.

"This is the most impressive blood sample I've ever seen. I've isolated the virus from the genetic makeup of the blood itself. As far as the virus goes, I wasn't able to find out anything we didn't already know. The form that was injected was engineered to remove most of the possibilities of mutation that had been observed in the past."

Claire nods. She's contemplating whether or not to tell him not to point out the obvious. It's too soon after her last quip, so she doesn't. "But the blood… I've never seen anything like it. It's… it's perfect blood. There are none of the eccentricities that all human blood possesses. No variations between red and white cells, robust… I can't imagine what humanity would be like if we all had blood like this."

"That's a dangerous way to think, Cumberland," Claire says.

"I only mean…"

"Keep going. What else did you find?"

"Well, this sample opens up a lot of questions. For instance, the strain of virus that was used was, of course, engineered to have a particular effect. But Wesker was still taking a huge chance by injecting himself with it. How could he have known he wouldn't end up a hideous monster like all the others who were injected?"

"He must have come across the discovery in his research. That was his plan all along."

"Exactly. Remember, only one in one billion people possess the genetic makeup to spawn into Tyrants. Wesker must have known his blood, his DNA, supported the exact strain of virus he used to become what he did."

"We already knew all of this, doctor."

"True, but there's something we don't know."

"And that is..?"

"We don't know when he was actually infected."

"We were told he injected himself with the virus sometime around the mansion incident. Possibly a few days before it."

"That's not what I've found. The virus in this blood sample has been there for decades. It's very mature."

"He was around this stuff all the time. He must have been tempted to use himself as a subject."

"See," Cumberland starts, removing his glasses, "that's not the Wesker I knew."

"What do you mean?"

Cumberland puts down his folder and looks at her.

"I'm not suggesting I was close to him, don't get me wrong. No one was close to him except Birkin. Birkin monopolized all his time. But when we were training, Wesker was very wary of the samples. You could tell he was fascinated by them, but he was ridiculously careful. It was kind of funny, actually."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm only telling you what I've discovered after completing my initial research."

"And how does that help us?"

Cumberland thinks of something to say. He's not quick enough. "Did you find out any weaknesses he has? Anything that can help us destroy him?"

"The way it stands now, there's nothing you can do. He has no weaknesses. I'd need more time to figure out…"

"Then keep looking. There has to be something there that we can use."

She's about to leave the room.

"Captain, with all due respect, Wesker's a clever man. If any of his alleged weaknesses would show up in his blood he wouldn't have handed it over to you."

"You're wrong, Cumberland." She turns around and faces him. "Wesker's very nervous that we have this. He gave it to us because it was the only way we'd let him keep Rebecca as a hostage. If it was anyone else, he would have denied us the sample. But it wasn't. It was her."

"Then," he says, "it sounds like you have found a weakness."

Cumberland looks at her with a smile that suggests great respect. Claire catches his gaze, reflects on his loaded comment. She's known this all along.

"Maybe I have."

She turns around and leaves. For the first time in a while, she's proud of herself.

 **Thirty-two**

It makes sense that the rendezvous point is in the very warehouse where the ordeal began. Everyone is standing back to back, their weapons drawn, waiting for him to appear. He promised he wouldn't be accompanied by his men, but they're not taking any chances. They listen intently to every sound the warehouse makes. They can hear water dripping and the wind whistling through broken windows. They switched on every light they could find. A lot of the bulbs burned out a long time ago, so it hasn't made much difference. Every shadow is cause for alarm.

He still hasn't shown up.

No one is more worried than Chris. He's convinced himself something terrible has happened to Rebecca. He's thought of several scenarios in his head. He's going over them now while aiming his Magnum at the darkness.

I'm going to kill that son of a bitch.

A rat scurries across the floor, between two piles of broken crates. Chris is startled. He aims his gun at the pile of crates the rat was fleeing, expecting him to spring out from behind them. Nothing happens.

Suddenly they hear a clang at the other end of the warehouse. Someone is coming. Everyone tenses up. Leon wishes he wasn't facing the opposite way. He wants to be able to spring into action if he has to. He's armed with a shot gun. It's perfect for taking off heads. He's wearing short sleeves; the naked skin of his arm is pressed against Claire. She knows this, but now is not the time to savour the feeling. Her wrists are crossed. She's holding a gun in each hand. Leon steals a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. Her face is set and determined. That's the Claire he remembers.

Jill can tell there are two people coming. She can hear both sets of footsteps. One of them is obviously Rebecca. Jill knows the cadence of her steps, how heavily she steps on the floor, how quickly she walks, what part of her foot makes contact with the concrete. The other set of footsteps is heavier, less apologetic. Even after all these years, she knows when he's coming. She grips the handle of her pistol tighter. The footsteps stop.

"Come out, Wesker!" Claire says.

It's quiet. In the distance, they hear Rebecca whisper something, but they can't tell what she's said.

"Rebecca?" Chris calls out.

"I'm here, guys."

They're relieved to hear her voice again. She sounds okay.

"Captain Redfield."

"Wesker."

"Put the vial on the floor and slide it over here."

"Where are you?"

He steps out of the shadows in front of her. Even twenty feet away, he's intimidating. He's dressed entirely in black. Rebecca is a little ways behind him. She isn't restrained at all. Claire wants her to just run over to them, away from him. That, however, is risking too much.

Claire puts one of the pistols back in its holster and takes the vial of his blood out of her vest. She slowly bends down and places it on the floor, then slides it over to him. He stops it with his foot, picks it up. He holds it up to the light, closes his hand around it, and stands up again. He's looking at the floor for some reason, not saying anything. "Your turn, Wesker," Claire says. "Send Rebecca over."

He glances behind him at where Rebecca is standing, still partially concealed in the shadows. They look at each other; Claire is confused. They're communicating somehow, but she can't tell what they mean.

Rebecca starts walking. She approaches him. He turns his face away from her. She passes him.

Before she's out of reach, his hand shoots out and grabs her wrist.

Leon and Chris level their guns at him. "Let her go, Wesker!" Chris warns.

"Wait!" Rebecca says.

Jill doesn't understand what's going on. He's talking to Rebecca quietly, and she's answering him with murmurs and worried looks. They can't hear what either is saying. His hand tightens around her wrist whenever she looks like she's about to walk away.

Jill recognizes this scene, and it starts something inside her.

"Let her go now, Wesker!" Leon shouts.

"Give me a fucking minute!" he says.

They're shocked. He's not behaving the way he usually does. He's losing his cool.

"Wait, guys, wait..." Rebecca says.

She turns her back to them.

Chris strains to hear what they're saying. He doesn't understand why she's letting him speak at all. What can he possibly have to say? What lie is he telling her now?

Eighteen 'till she dies. I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch.

Rebecca raises her hand and holds it out to him. They keep talking under their breaths. Her open palm is steady and insistent. They can't see her face, but they can see his. He's looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Chris looks at Wesker's gloved hand around Rebecca's wrist and notices he's stroking the inside skin with his thumb.

That sick fuck.

Suddenly Wesker raises his other hand. Chris aims for it, ready to blow it off if he touches a hair on Rebecca's head. Wesker doesn't hit her.

He places the vial of his blood in her hand.

"Captain!" Rebecca calls. She turns around to face her team mates. "Catch!"

She tosses Claire the vial. "He's coming with us."

"The FUCK he is!" Chris yells.

"What the fuck is she doing?" Jill says.

"Rebecca, get away from him!" Leon says.

"Captain!"

Rebecca has a look on her face that can break a heart. Claire stares at her.

"Rebecca…" she starts.

"Captain, please…"

"What did you do to her, Wesker?" Chris says.

"I'm okay, Chris."

"You're fucked!"

"Claire…" Jill whispers.

Claire can't answer.

She's remembering her orders.

"If he comes with us, he comes in handcuffs," she says to Rebecca.

"You're not serious," Leon says, his eyes open wide.

"This is fucking bullshit!" Chris hisses.

"Shut up, Chris."

"Claire!"

"That's an order, Redfield!" she says with tremendous vehemence.

Chris is shocked. "Leon."

"Captain?" he asks warily.

"Take Wesker into custody."

"Captain, I don't think handcuffs will hold him."

"I understand the formality," Wesker says. "I won't resist."

Even submissive, his voice is chilling.

Leon releases a set of sturdy handcuffs from his belt. He's about to approach Wesker when Chris swipes them out of his hand.

"Chris," Leon says.

"You're not denying me this, Kennedy."

A sneer comes over Wesker's face as Chris steps up to him. Chris slaps one of the cuffs over his enemy's wrist, then roughly twists his arm behind his back. He grabs the other hand, puts his boot on Wesker's back, and forces him to his knees. He cuffs the other wrist. "Pass me the belt, Kennedy."

"He's not resisting, Chris," Rebecca says.

"He comes with us, he wears the fucking belt!" Chris snaps at her.

Leon looks at Claire.

"Give him the belt," she says.

Leon removes a security belt and hands it to Chris. Chris fastens the belt around Wesker's waist and locks the handcuffs to it, presumably immobilizing him. Chris stands in front of his enemy, glaring angrily. Wesker looks up at him, over the top of his sunglasses. Chris catches a glimpse of his evil stare, notices a smile growing on Wesker's face.

"Enjoy yourself, Redfield."

"That's enough," Claire says. "Leon, Jill, Chris, take Wesker to the chopper."

He steals one last look at Rebecca before he's lead away.

When they're alone, Claire looks at Rebecca gravely. "We're going back to the facility, at which point Cumberland will perform a full check up. After that, I want you in my office. You're going to tell me everything. Everything, Miss Chambers. That's an order. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain."

Rebecca is terrified.

 **Thirty-three**

"Where are you?"

"Behind you."

A warm hand slides over Jill's naked belly. Chris presses himself against her back, enveloping her in his arms. "Chilly Jilly…"

"Hey you."

"I saw you naked."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

"What'd you think?"

"You're hot."

Jill smiles. "Yeah?"

"Yup. You're a hot mama."

Jill tries to remember why she was so afraid of this.

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

She can't think of anything creative to say.

"You're hot too."

"Aw, you stole my line, man!"

"Well!"

"You can't say that."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I just said that."

"Well, I can't think on my feet!"

"You wanna lie down again?"

Jill lets out a pleasantly annoyed sigh. Chris leans into her and nibbles her earlobe. "Chilly Jilly…" he whispers.

"Where's the light?"

"I ate it."

"You ate the light?"

"Yup. No more light. It's dark forever."

"Chris, don't eat the light anymore."

"Too late."

She starts to walk over to where she knows the light switch is, but he pulls her back.

"I've got to get back to work!" she protests.

"You can't. I ate the DVD player too."

"Come on!"

He kisses her neck.

"Claire's out, you know," Chris says.

"Yeah? Where'd she go?"

"To get another recon disk."

"Where's Leon?"

"I don't know."

"Are we alone?"

"Yeah."

Jill acquires a mischievous grin.

"That sounds like fun."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Here comes the fun?"

"Yeah. You know what's fun?"

"What?"

"Letting me get back to work."

Chris snorts. "That's not fun!"

Jill tries to untangle herself from Chris' arms, but he won't let go. She pokes at him, pries at his fingers, starts to giggle. Chris' embrace remains solid. "Okay, Chris? I have to go now."

"Where's your hat, Jill?"

"I don't wear hats anymore."

"I liked your hat."

"I know you did."

"It was saucy."

"Uh, yeah."

She wiggles around to try and shake him off. It doesn't work.

"You can't leave without your hat."

"Then gimme my hat."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I ate it."

Jill playfully bangs her fists on his hands. "You suck eggs!" she says.

"Eggs are good."

"Hey, is the toaster working?"

"No."

"What about the oven?"

"Yeah, but only two of the burners work."

"I'm hungry."

"Me too."

"Want me to make something?"

"Yeah, can you?"

"What do you want?"

"A Jill sandwich."

He makes a slurping sound while he turns her around. She laughs lightly.

"Yeah, that's right! Eat me!"

"Mmmmm…"

Chris gently bites the apple of Jill's cheek.

"Turn on the light."

"Jill…"

"Turn on the light."

He kisses her. She runs her hands over his chest. "Go turn on the light, Chris," she murmurs.

"Jilly…"

Their eyes close. "It's ugly out there," he says.

"I know."

"It's not even clean. And something fuckin' smells really bad in the kitchen. Have you smelled it too?"

"Yeah."

"I like it here. It smells like you in here."

"That's 'cause I'm here."

"Yeah."

"But it's dark."

"Yeah, that's okay."

"No it isn't. I'm a gentle flower. I need light."

"Gentle flower my ass."

She feigns being insulted, puts her hand on his face and tries to push him away. "Okay! Okay! Hold on!"

He releases her and disappears in the darkness. She can hear him rummaging around and knows he's making a mess. A ray of light shoots across the room suddenly. Chris has discovered a flashlight. He puts it under his chin. "There. Light."

"I meant big light."

"You can't have big light. You can have take-out pizza and this." He waves it over his head.

"If we order pizza you'll have to get dressed."

"I'll get dressed. You stay like that."

"What if I drop something on myself?"

"I'll lick it off."

"Ew!"

He walks over to her with the flashlight beneath his chin. "Wanna see something?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Fine, what?"

He points the light down. Jill puts her hand over her mouth. "Whaddaya think of that?" he asks jauntily.

"Well!" She looks up at him and nods. "That's impressive!" She says it as if it's a joke, but she means it.

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

He nods too. "Oh yeah!"

"It's too bad I can't see more of you."

"Maybe I should go turn on the light."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

She steps up close to him, raises her hand, and tugs his bottom lip down with her thumb. His teeth part, and he bites it eagerly.

"'Cause I ate it."

He raises his eyebrows.

 **Thirty-four**

Rebecca is looking at the clock on the wall. It's very late. He's been gone for hours. He didn't tell her where he was going; only that he'd be back in good time. She welcomed the solitude for the first hour or so; she walked around the office, taking everything in. She's finally discovered what the contents of the wall unit are, a fact that takes her entirely by surprise. There's an eclectic collection of music and movies, stuff that she never thought he'd be into. She even got a chance to play the piano without worrying about whether she was annoying him or not.

He hasn't returned.

She's starting to worry.

He's never left her alone before, and it's leaving her with a very uneasy feeling. It's so quiet she feels as if she's doing something wrong, as if at any moment he'll come in and chastise her for her choice of pastime. She doesn't want to start watching a movie, and there are several of her favourites here, because she doesn't want him to know what movies she likes. The same goes for the CDs. She's already tried going through his desk. All the drawers are locked. It's just as well; if she's unable to snoop, the temptation will fade away.

She sits at the piano and starts hitting the keys absently, listening to them echo. The notes seem to punctuate the sounds of traffic on the streets below. It's a haunting melody; she plays minor chords, and a sense of melancholy settles. She realizes she's doing it to herself, exploring her own maudlin feelings. It matches the weather; fall is here.

She hears the elevator arrive but doesn't turn her head. The doors part and he steps into the room. She hears him walk towards her when he sees her sitting at the piano. He stops in front of her. She raises her eyes. "Hello."

"Hello."

They look at each other. He bends down and kisses her softly on the forehead.

She knew it.

"Albert…"

"Yes."

Her voice is shaky.

"You smell like blood."

A heavy silence descends.

"Yes," he says.

She looks away.

"Did you kill someone?"

A pause.

"Yes."

It hurts for her to swallow.

"Why?"

"Because they deserved it."

"'They'."

She squeezes her eyes shut.

She knew it.

She rises suddenly and steps away from him, choosing the ground she will stand before she confronts him. He watches her as she finds a spot that's suitable and waits for her to begin. She puts her hand to her forehead, takes a deep breath. Her cheeks are flushed, but the rest of her face is pale.

"Who are you to say who deserves to die and who doesn't?"

"Because I'm the one with the power," he hisses.

"You broke the rule! You promised me!"

"The rules don't apply to me, Miss Chambers, and you'll do well to remember that."

"You promised me!"

"I lied."

He freely admits it. Her eyes widen. They search the room for anything that might make her feel less helpless.

"I should have known you would!"

"Yes, you should have known. Now you're right. Enjoy it."

"How can you be so heartless? It doesn't stop, does it?"

"You've got me confused with someone else."

"How can you be so cruel?"

"Because I'm not a good person, Miss Chambers. I was never a good person. You seem to think that there's something inside me to be redeemed. I'm telling you there isn't."

"I can't believe…"

"Don't," he says. "You can't believe? Oh yes you can. You can believe it. You've known it all this time. You're not that naïve that you thought this wouldn't happen. You expected it."

"Go to hell."

"You know it's always there, just beneath the surface, no matter how gentle I am with you, and that's exactly the type of thing you like, isn't it?"

"Fuck you!"

"You're turned on by villainy, Miss Chambers. You fetishize it. You always have."

"You're the only villain I've ever known, Wesker!"

He smirks at the sound of his name.

"That's not true, and you know it."

A bead of sweat trickles down her back.

"Shut up."

"Billy Coen, Rebecca. Do you remember him?"

"Shut up!"

"Lieutenant Billy Coen was charged with killing… what was it?" He pretends to search for the number. "Twenty-three people? That's right, isn't it? When you met him?"

"Don't you dare talk about Billy that way!" she says. "Billy saved me! He risked his life for me!"

"And it didn't bother you that he was a convicted killer, did it?"

"Billy's innocent!"

"To this day you still haven't been able to prove that. Is he?"

"Shut up!"

"Whether he is or he isn't, it didn't stop you from knowing him in the Biblical sense, did it?"

"I hate you!"

"Right now, yes, you do. But you'll be here for a while, and soon you'll catch me doing something that moves your pretty little heart, and you'll crawl into my lap again. Because you think everyone can be saved. I can't be, Miss Chambers. Not by you or anyone else. I'm sorry to have disappointed you."

This is what he's wanted, this night. He's been waiting for it. If he says the right things, does the right things, she'll realize she has to let go. She won't get attached to him.

And he won't get attached to her.

Rebecca holds in a sob and glares at him with pure rage. "That's a lovely expression."

"You have no right to talk about Billy."

"Your hero?"

"He saved my life more than once that night."

"And I tried to take it."

"I'm so stupid!"

"Yes, you are."

"I thought you could change."

"I'm sorry, dear heart."

"You can. You just won't."

"I can't. And I never will."

"You're a liar!"

"No, not now. Now I'm telling the truth."

"You're…"

"Would you like to see Lieutenant Coen again? I could arrange it. If I paid him enough, I'm sure he'd make an appearance."

Rebecca lunges at him, her fists flying. She grabs at his jacket, at his shirt, and tears with all her might. Several buttons pop off; the cloth rips. She's screaming, crying, swearing at him, punching him, scratching his face, grabbing handfuls of his hair. He doesn't fight back.

He can't fight back.

She slams him against the piano, and a dull rumble emanates from the impact. He seizes her upper arms and she starts to shake. "I thought you'd change!" she cries.

"I won't."

"For me!"

"I'm sorry."

"For me!"

"Not for anyone."

Her arms restrained, she kicks him over and over again.

"You're a snake! You're a liar!"

He can't help but draw her close to him.

"Yes, I am."

Sobbing, she puts her arms around him.

"How could you?"

"Easily. Very easily."

He puts his hand on her head, smoothes her hair.

"You promised!"

"I don't keep promises," he says softly.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to."

"I hate you."

"Good. Hate me."

She can't catch her breath. He holds her closer.

"I hate you Albert!"

"Good."

"Why do I want this?"

She starts pounding on his back. It doesn't hurt.

"Stop it."

"You're a horrible person!"

"You're right."

"But I can't…"

He pushes her away, grabs both her arms, and screams so loudly she chokes on her own voice.

"STOP HITTING ME!"

She's terrified. Her legs weaken. He tries to hold her up, but she sinks to her knees at his feet. He contemplates kicking her, but doesn't. Her chest heaves uncontrollably. He bends to help her to her feet, but she shoves him away. She rises, staggers a few paces away from him, and continues to cry.

She cries for what seems like forever; each time she feels she's about to stop, she remembers something and it starts again. It's ages before she's able to breathe normally again. They stand facing each other.

Neither one of them moves. Neither one of them leaves.

He doesn't want to be the first one to speak.

But he is.

 **Thirty-five**

She finds him sitting at his desk in the dark. The moon is full and highlights his face. He's leaning on the dark wood, both hands clasped together. He's put his clothes back on, including his gloves. She's embarrassed. She thought he was still naked, so she didn't bother to dress.

He hears her bare feet stepping on the floor and turns his head. "You're awake," he says softly.

"Yeah. So are you."

"I received a message when you dozed off."

"Come back to bed with me."

"They succeeded, Rebecca."

At first she doesn't know what he's talking about. "Your team mates. They've held up their end of the bargain." He looks at her. "I have to take you home tomorrow."

She puts her hands on her cheeks, feels them getting hot, and takes a deep breath. She knew this day would come eventually, of course. She ran it through her mind over and over again, thought about the different ways she could and would react. One time she pictured weeping with joy; another time, she imagined being saddened by the news. There was a period she anticipated feeling totally numb.

Now that it's here, she doesn't know how to feel.

"Are they alright?"

"Yes, they all survived."

"Oh good…"

His face is expressionless, hidden behind the dark glasses. She tries to figure out what he's thinking but he is, as usual, an enigma. "Albert?"

"Yes?"

"What are you going to do now?"

He looks away and doesn't answer. "You don't have to go back."

"Don't start."

"You have to stop whatever it is you've got planned."

He stands. She keeps talking. "Please, Albert. Is it all really that important?"

"You don't understand."

"Don't do it, whatever it is."

He moves to hold her, but it's too sudden, and given the situation, Rebecca jumps.

He glares at her.

"What was that?"

"Albert, please…"

"You want to get away from me now? Is that it?"

"It's all over, you don't have to do this."

"Do what?"

"I don't know."

They stand in silence.

"This is our last night," he says.

"I know."

He turns away and returns to his chair, sits down, and looks out the window. She walks over to him. He doesn't look at her. "Captain?"

"Albert."

"Albert…" She stands next to him and watches him gaze out at the city. "Are you okay?"

"I know what's coming."

"What's coming?"

He sighs, and sounds exhausted.

"I'm going to beg you to stay."

His candidness catches her off guard. She turns her head and stares at the blinking lights on the tops of the skyscrapers.

"Will you?"

He nods. "How do you know?"

"It's what I do."

He says it as a matter of fact.

Rebecca drapes her leg over him. He leans back and welcomes her as she slips into his lap. Curled in his arms, she closes her eyes and feels him slide his gloved hands over her bare flesh. She breathes in deeply and catches the familiar smell of his cologne. She can't remember what it's called, but she likes it. She listens to the steady beating of his heart. They stay like this for a while.

"One last time."

"Yeah," she says.

"I'll tell you everything I can."

"Everything?"

"Yes. Will you do the same?"

"Everything I can."

He lifts her up as he rises. "Where?"

"Here."

"Right here?"

"Near the window."

"Alright."

"Take your glasses off."

He hesitates. "Take them off and promise me you'll look at me."

"You'll be left with that. Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

He puts her down and they stand in front of the wide windows. She reaches up and removes them. He's staring down at her ankles, thinking that perhaps he'll start there. "Look at me, Albert."

He does. She stares into them, mesmerized. "Were they always like that?"

"No."

"What color were they?"

He chuckles. It's almost funny.

"They were blue."

"Blue…" She smiles. "I never saw your eyes before, you know? You always wore these." She holds them up. He takes them from her and drops them on his desk.

Rebecca starts to undress him slowly, savouring the feeling of his expensive clothing on her fingertips. She pulls off his jacket and tosses it onto the desk with his shades. She unbuttons his shirt, opens it, runs her hands over the taught flesh, counts the defined muscles of his abdomen. He shifts to allow her access to his body. Every time he moves she gets a whiff of his scent; she's still trying to remember the name. Soon the cufflinks are loosened, the belt is unbuckled, the pants come off, the shorts are black and snug. She slips two fingers into his glove and carefully slides them off his hand, does the same with the other.

"Why do you wear gloves all the time?"

"Habit. Do you know you talk in your sleep?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what you say?"

"Sometimes. You've heard me?"

"Yes."

He leans into her, his roaming hands leading his strong arms, and holds her tightly as they begin. There are his lips and hers, his tongue and hers, his sighs, her murmurs, the sounds of kissing. He slips his fingers into her mouth, gets them wet, and his hand travels down her body to find the spot she loves best. He starts to massage her with moistened digits, cooing as she whimpers in pleasure. He turns her around and presses her back against his chest, one arm around her, embracing her, as the other hand continues to tease.

"Do you ever think of him?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I remember him."

"Do you ever picture him instead of me?"

"Yes."

She groans, doesn't want him to stop. "Are you angry?"

"No…" he whispers, his fingers still dancing.

"Don't hurt me, Albert…"

"I won't hurt you."

"Please don't hurt me…"

"I won't."

Her hands reach up to hold the muscled forearm across her chest. She tosses her head. Her lip is curled. "Come for me, dear heart…" he purrs in her ear.

"Hold me…"

He grips her tighter.

"Come for me…"

Her head falls back on his shoulder. He sees her eyes are closed. "Come…" She can hear his breath as it escapes him, knows there's a small smile on his face. She thinks of his lips, beautiful and vicious as they are, slightly parted, near her neck.

"Don't stop…"

He laughs lightly.

"I'm not gonna stop. Come… You know you want to…"

She grunts. She loves that he's urging her, demanding her. "You know you wanna come, Rebecca… you're so close…"

"Don't stop, please..!"

"I won't." He turns his face, his lips brushing her ear as he murmurs. "Come on now… come on…" He leans back with her. "Come… come…"

Helpless, she does.

In a minute, he's laid her, trembling, on the floor behind his desk. The moon is high in the sky and illuminates their skin in ethereal shades of white and violet. He puts her arms over her head, giving himself access to her breasts. Her lovely tan nipples have hardened beneath his lusty gaze. He brings his lips to one perfect orb, licks and nibbles the sensitive skin. She watches him fondle her, her large eyes glassy and bright. He moves to the other, worships it as he did the first. She's glad they're so high above everything. They can look out over the city, but no one can see them.

"How old were you when you had your first?" she asks.

"Twenty-three. You?"

"Eighteen."

"After I met you?"

"Yes."

He grins.

"I missed my chance."

She smiles too.

She thought the questions would occur to her sooner. She thought she'd never stop talking, what with everything she wants to know. Now, beneath his gaze, she's having trouble remembering. Little things come back to her between caresses; it isn't that they seem insignificant now. She ignores them. She doesn't want to hear her own voice. She wants to hear his.

He pulls off his shorts. She can see the full extent of his eagerness as he straddles her and sits up. The moon is behind his head, lining his body in silver. He takes hold of himself and strokes slowly. She puts her hands on his, feels the way the muscles tense as he works his sex. He drops his head and catches sight of her hand rising and falling in time with his. Her hand looks so small compared to his. It strikes him that she uses them to heal. His ass tightens, and he grunts. He doesn't want to come yet.

"How old are you, Albert?"

He has no choice but to answer.

"Forty-eight."

"Why do you look so young?"

He smiles.

"How old do I look?"

"How young."

"How young?"

"Keep going…"

He realizes his hand has stopped.

"I can't or I'll…"

"I want you to."

"Not like this. Inside you."

She grins at him, wicked, mischievous.

"Say that again."

He leans down and locks her in his sight.

"I wanna come inside you."

"Really?"

"Yeah…" he nods.

She finally has the chance to get him back.

"Beg me," she says.

It isn't lost on him. He growls enthusiastically and lies down beside her. "Please…" She giggles and tries to roll away. He catches her, holds her against him. "Please, Rebecca?" He sweeps his knuckles over her cheek; then his hand begins to travel down her arm. "I'll be good…"

She laughs. She could ask him what his plans are; his words invite it. She can't. She doesn't want to think.

"No you won't."

"Yes I will… please…"

His fingers instinctively find the spot she loves the most; instead of rubbing, he traces it delicately. "Please, baby…"

"Called me baby..?"

"Yeah."

"You've never called me that before."

A flush comes over her, between her legs.

"There are a lot of things I want to call you."

"Like what?"

She expects him to say 'bitch'.

"Angel."

It hurts.

She closes her eyes.

"Oh… I like that…"

"Angel?"

"Yeah…"

He starts to rub.

"I'll call you angel if you let me fuck you." She whimpers. "I'll call you angel if you let me come inside you."

He doesn't know how risky this is. Everything he does, he says, everything signals the end. There's a weight to his words that he's completely unaware of. He has no concept of how to reach her; to him, it's teasing, power, control.

But he is reaching her. He's burning images in her head that will never leave.

This is the most dangerous thing he's ever done.

She returns to him, and he climbs on top of her, eases her legs apart with his knee. Her hands reach out for him. He takes them both, kisses them, lets them go. Her knees come up, bookends to his supple form. He holds himself, poised, ready to enter her for the last time. "Tell me you want me," he says.

"I want you, Albert…"

"Yeah…"

"You said…"

"Angel…"

She reaches for him again. There's a look on her face that he doesn't recognize. He doesn't know what she wants of him. He caresses her face. She grabs onto his hand, clasps it firmly between hers, then lets it go. He lays it on her belly. She runs her hands over his arms, his chest, his shoulders; her expression doesn't change.

He gets it then.

With one sweep of his arm, he catches both of her hands in one of his, presses them over his heart. "Angel," he moans, and with one merciful thrust, she's his.

It's painful, exquisite. Every empty space in her body is filled with him, with his cruelty, his lust, his passion, and the things he's hidden away. His hands, his fingers, pierce the last barrier in her mind, a barrier she's held up for all these weeks. It shatters. They're grunting like animals, moaning so loud the windows shake. When they roll over she pins his wrists to the floor. He pretends he can't move and bucks, writhes beneath her. They beg and plead with each other, order each other to obey their wishes. He throbs. She swells. Soon he's on top of her again. It won't be long now.

"Last time," she says.

"Yes..."

"I've never… felt…"

"… this…"

"… yeah…"

"Don't go…"

"… before…"

"Don't go…"

"I…"

"Stay with me…"

"… oh…"

"... please…"

"… I have to…"

"… angel…"

"I love you, Albert..."

His eyes open. "What?"

"I love you..."

Heat.

Nothing but heat.

"… oh…."

"Do you love me, Albert?"

This is it.

"I'm gonna come, Rebecca…"

"Do you love me?"

"I'm gonna come..."

"Answer me..."

"Oh fuck..."

"Answer me, Albert..."

His body releases him. He gasps.

"Yes... Yes... Fuck, yes... Yes..."

The next thing he hears, when the bells stop ringing, is Rebecca sobbing gently into his neck. He looks down at her, his hands smooth over her damp cheeks. "What is it?"

"I can't remember what it's called!"

"What?"

"Your cologne!"

"What?"

"Your cologne! I can't remember!"

He holds her close.

"I'll write it down for you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Thirty-six**

 _Jill bumped into the door on her way out. She wanted to leave without incident, but her mascara had run into her eyes and blurred her vision. She took a moment to squeeze the bridge of her nose and make sure nothing was broken. That's when Chris came up behind her, put his hand on hers to see how bad the damage was. She brushed him away, picked up her bag again, then opened the door quickly and headed into the hallway._

 _Of course, he followed her._

 _She walked briskly, but he caught up with her and turned her around. He was still wearing his pyjamas – a t-shirt, loose track pants – and hadn't bothered to put on any slippers. His hair was a mess. "Come on…" he said; the words sounded like he had to force them out. Jill shook her head, turned away. He grabbed her wrist and stepped in front of her. "Jill."_

 _"No," she muttered. She tried to sidestep him but he blocked her way. She tried to push past him, shoved him with her arm. He let go of her wrist, watched her step a couple of paces, then raced after her and stood in her path again._

 _"Jill. Come on. Don't go."_

 _She refused to look at him. Instead, she glared at the carpet. "Come on."_

 _"No," she said, unable to believe he was asking her to stay after what happened._

 _They remained silent, motionless in the hallway. At one point one of Chris' neighbours came home from a party. The neighbour tried not to notice what was happening and disappeared into one of the units. Chris knew he'd be the subject of idle gossip for weeks. Jill misunderstood his irritation and turned to leave._

 _"Jill. Jill!"_

 _"No."_

 _"Come on."_

 _He caught up with her again in the stairwell. He pushed past her, then braced himself between the railings so that she couldn't pass. "Move."_

 _"No," he said._

 _"Move!"_

 _He shook his head._

 _"No."_

 _"Move it!"_

 _"You're not going anywhere. Talk to me."_

 _"No."_

 _"Jill."_

 _"Move it, now!"_

 _"Come on, let's go back upstairs."_

 _He held his hand out, but she didn't take it._

 _"No."_

 _"Jill."_

 _She brushed past him. He caught her around her waist. She struggled to get away from him. They ended up pressed against the wall. His face was close to hers, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking up at the ceiling, resenting her._

 _"No!"_

 _"Come on."_

 _"I'm going home!"_

 _"No you're not. We're going upstairs."_

 _"No."_

 _"Jill."_

 _She shoved him, but he recovered quickly and pinned her again._

 _"I want to go home."_

 _"Come on."_

 _"Now, Chris!"_

 _"Let's go back upstairs."_

 _"No!"_

 _"It's too late to go home."_

 _"I'm taking a cab."_

 _"You're not taking a cab."_

 _"Get off me."_

 _He pulled away a little, held his hand out again. She ignored it and made another attempt to descend the stairs. He caught her wrist. "Let's go upstairs."_

 _"I'm not staying here," she said._

 _"Come on, Jill."_

 _"I'm going home."_

 _"You have to stay."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"Because."_

 _"Because why?"_

 _His feet were getting cold. He put one on top of the other to try and warm them up. He didn't answer her at first. It only fuelled her anger more. "I'm going."_

 _"No."_

 _"Fuck you, Chris!"_

 _"Come on, Jill."_

 _"I'm not staying."_

 _"You're staying. You're staying with me tonight."_

 _"No."_

 _"What did I do?" he asked suddenly, almost angrily. "Tell me what I did."_

 _She looked away. "Huh? Tell me. Talk to me." She shook her head. He was used to this silence. She could be so stubborn. He hated this kind of conversation, this begging for her to let him in on what she was thinking and feeling. He was never one to deny what he wanted. Unfortunately, she was. "Come on, Jill!"_

 _"I want to go home."_

 _"You have to tell me."_

 _"Figure it out!" she said. "Go through it in your head and figure it out!"_

 _"Don't leave, Jill… Jilly?"_

 _Their eyes met. "Don't go."_

 _They stood in the stairwell for what seemed like forever, not talking. Chris kept his eyes fixed on Jill; he willed her to look at him, but she didn't._

 _"I can't see you for a while," she said._

 _He gritted his teeth and glared at her._

 _"Why?"_

 _"Because I can't."_

 _"So you're gonna leave and you're not coming back?"_

 _"Yeah."_

 _"That's it? What's this? It's over?"_

 _"I need some time…"_

 _"Bullshit!" he spat._

 _"I'm going home."_

 _"No."_

 _He shook his head again and walked towards her._

 _"I'm going home!"_

 _"Talk to me!"_

 _"No!"_

 _He trapped her in a dusty corner._

 _"What did I do?"_

 _"I have to go. You're being unfair."_

 _"I'm being unfair? What did I do, Jill? Come on."_

 _She looked up at him. His eyes were watering. It was intimate, but ultimately not enough._

 _"You don't understand… and you don't try to."_

 _She finally broke away from him and headed down the stairs._

 _"If you leave, you don't come back, Jill," he called after her. She stopped and looked up at him. He held his hands up in the air, as if it was out of his control. "That's it. You leave now, don't even bother."_

 _"You can't give me time?"_

 _"How do you deserve time?" he snapped, hurt, desperate to strike back. "Huh?"_

 _His face was slowly twisting up, as if he was in pain, as if he was trying his hardest not to cry. She had never seen anything like that from him before. She knew he cared about her, but didn't think he cared enough about her to show her this much emotion. But she couldn't find any other way to make it right._

 _So she sacrificed it._

 _"Alright. Goodbye."_

 _"Fuck you, Jill!" he yelled with such tremendous passion that, startled, her hand jumped off the railing. "Fuck you!"_

 _She heard the door to his floor slam shut as she counted the number of steps it took to walk out of his life._

 **Thirty-seven**

Rebecca won't look straight ahead. If she did, she'd get a clear view of his hands handcuffed behind his back. This isn't the worst treatment he could receive; there are many other things they could inflict on him as punishment, and he definitely deserves worse. But the sight of him restrained is still upsetting to her. She's always hated handcuffs. She stares at the backs of his shoes and tries to pick out their distinct steps from the rest. It keeps her from thinking about what's to come.

Jill is walking with Rebecca. She steals glimpses at the Alpha Medic as they go. She can tell something's wrong, that the girl has changed significantly since they last spoke. Jill can't get the scene in the warehouse out of her head. There has to be a connection. It isn't making sense. She thinks about how angry Chris must be at this moment, knows that she'll hear all about it later. Whenever he's upset, she's the first person he lets know. It's unfortunate, but sweet.

Chris won't take his eyes off him. He marches behind him, still holding his magnum, ready to shoot if necessary. The fluorescent lights pass over them as they walk through the dilapidated hallways of the facility; no one is speaking. Chris' blood is boiling. He doesn't know what happened, so his mind is blank. He can't answer his own questions, or imagine what went on. He's in the moment; it's pulling him along, and he feels helpless.

Leon is flanking Wesker. He walks briskly, with his head held high, and listens to the collective sound of all their footsteps as they make their way to the holding cell. This is the closest he's come to being a cop in almost ten years. He thinks back to his training as an officer and is surprised he still remembers the standard protocol. Contrary to both Chris and Jill, Leon has put his weapons away. Whatever might happen, he feels he can handle it. He's the only one who isn't afraid.

They round a corner. Rebecca is supposed to part at this point, since Cumberland's office is the first door on their right. Leon stops everyone and knocks. No one answers. "Doctor?"

"Just a second," they hear him calling from the opposite end of the hallway. Cumberland steps out of one of several dingy men's rooms. When he looks up at them, his face turns ghostly pale. Wesker smiles.

"Hello, Cumberland," he says.

No one was expecting this. Their eyes dart among each other. Chris scowls.

"You know him?" he asks, his temperature rising.

"An old colleague of mine from my days with Umbrella," Wesker says. "You've aged terribly, Andrew."

"Umbrella?" Jill says. She glares at the doctor. "You worked with Umbrella?"

"They don't know?" Wesker asks him, when he knows exactly what the answer is. "That's a rather important bit of information to leave off your curriculum vitae."

"Why is he here?" Cumberland says finally.

Chris stomps over to him.

"You better pray he's full of shit," he growls.

"I think you can tell from the good doctor's expression I'm not," Wesker says. "Cumberland is an experienced Umbrella researcher. One of the best, as I recall. Adept at putting people at ease. But not everyone's cup of tea. What was that nickname you had again, Drew? They used to call you 'The Turkey', didn't they?"

"We had a couple of nicknames for you too," he replies.

"I'm sure you did."

"Call Claire!" Jill says.

"Captain Redfield knows," Cumberland tells her.

Chris is shocked.

"What?"

The doctor nods.

"She knows."

Chris waits for a moment, allowing the comment to sink in. Then he turns around briskly and heads for Claire's office.

"Chris," Leon calls after him. Chris doesn't respond. They listen to his footsteps fade out on the cheap linoleum floors. Jill knows exactly what's going to happen. She turns back to the doctor and levels her pistol at him. Leon holds up his hand to let her know it's best not to shoot. Cumberland doesn't budge; he looks her straight in the eye, unapologetic.

"Captain Redfield ordered an examination," Cumberland says, gently, to Rebecca.

"I know," she says. Her voice is hoarse. There are bags under her eyes.

"I'm surprised you're still practicing medicine, Drew," Wesker says. "I didn't think you'd have it in you."

"There's a lot you don't know."

"Don't be so sure."

"You two are gonna have to continue this reunion later," Leon says. He turns to Jill. "Check on Claire?"

Jill looks at the doctor sideways; she's holding the pistol so tightly the veins in her arms are sticking out. "It's alright Jill, I can handle it from here."

"Don't let him out of your sight, Leon," she says.

"I won't."

"Don't let him give you anything, Rebecca."

"I'm a medic, Jill. Remember?" she says with a small smile.

Jill nods. She squeezes Rebecca's hand before she leaves.

"Follow me," Leon says to Wesker. Rebecca remains at the entrance to the doctor's office. She still won't look up. Leon and Wesker walk towards Cumberland, towards the double doors that lead down to the holding cells. Wesker's lips twist into a sinister smile as they pass.

"See you around, Drew," he says.

They leave. The doctor looks up at Rebecca.

Even at this distance, he can tell she's hurt.

 **Thirty-eight**

 _Another long day._

 _Another late night._

 _Andrew Cumberland was lying on his skinny bed in his dorm room at the Arklay Facility. The mattress was thin and lumpy; he imagined the beds were purchased from some army surplus fire sale a long time ago. Even the sheets smelled faintly of mildew, though they had been laundered that morning._

 _Nothing was ever truly clean around the Facility. Foul odours were simply masked with artificial air fresheners. The dust that fell on the floor was swept under matted carpets; the rest lay in blankets over stereo systems and album covers, books, and pornographic magazines. The girls' dorm rooms were probably better, Andrew thought. Girls were cleaner than guys were. Guys didn't care so much._

 _Andrew's roommate was meticulously clean, though. He never left anything lying around. His clothes were always folded and put away, his collectables were lined up neatly on his shelves; his books were alphabetized. Andrew was used to a maid picking up after him. Now that he was on his own, and on his way to becoming a fully trained Umbrella pharmacist, he had to rely on himself to keep his area tidy. He wasn't doing a very good job._

 _At two o'clock in the morning, Andrew was still lying awake and staring at the ceiling. He wondered if his roommate was awake too; if he was there was a chance Andrew could knack off without being caught. He found a round of solo to be the best way to fall asleep if one was having difficulty, but he couldn't be sure of absolute privacy. So he lay still, wired and frustrated, and ran the day's events over in his mind._

 _He knew the training would be ruthless, of course. It was difficult to get into the program, though one wouldn't know it by speaking to the teachers. They found the influx of new recruits to be of mediocre talent to say the least. That didn't stop Andrew's roommate from calling Dr. Marcus by his first name in class that day. Andrew couldn't believe it when, during one of Marcus' droning lectures, a crisp, arrogant voice piped up from the back of the room, "James, what does this have to do with anything?" The others were just as shocked as he was. Some of them wanted desperately to laugh, and just barely succeeded in holding it in. Dr. Marcus looked like he was going to explode, but Andrew's roommate continued to natter away. He was snarky and stuck-up, but he proved himself right. Even Marcus couldn't argue with him._

 _Andrew chuckled to himself. The look on Marcus' face was priceless. He couldn't tell if the old coot wanted to smack or kiss the little punk. Humour was so rare at the Facility in those early weeks. It was difficult to adjust to the new Orwellian atmosphere. Andrew was certain he wasn't the only one who noticed it. The company creed, the large painting of Dr. Marcus that hung between the first and second floor landings, it all smacked of 1984._

 _The Facility even had its own version of Room 101._

 _Just a rumour, Andrew thought, when he heard someone scream. One of the guys. It was only for a moment; then it was muffled, as if a wad of cloth or something had been stuffed into the unfortunate's mouth. Rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the floors. The guy was struggling, and others were trying to subdue him. Andrew raised his head and peered at the light that was coming in from beneath the door. The shadows of other peoples' feet passed back and forth in front of the dorm room. Whoever it was they were taking was putting up an enormous fight. Despite the obstruction, he was still screaming. It grew to the point of hysteria, then there was a sickening thud, and the struggle ceased as abruptly as it began. They dragged whoever it was away._

 _Disturbed, Andrew was about to slide off his bed when he heard something else; a quiet sob. Propping himself up on his elbow, he squinted in the darkness and tried to identify the source of the noise. The sobbing became steady, and he came to the very uncomfortable realization that his roommate was crying. Andrew debated whether or not he should say something. Finally, he spoke. "Birkin?"_

 _"What?"_

 _"You alright?"_

 _"Yeah."_

 _"You sure?"_

 _"Is the door locked?"_

 _"Yeah."_

 _"Then I'm alright."_

 _"Do you…"_

 _"Leave me the fuck alone, Cumberland."_

 _The crying stopped. Andrew sighed._

 _He was in for yet another sleepless night._

 **Thirty-nine**

Eunice Johnson is sitting on her couch in her picturesque living room. She's flipping through an Ikea catalogue. Ever since her grandson bought her the serving cart she's wanted to see what else they have that she might be able to use. Everything is so stylish nowadays. Stylish, but not built to last. Eunice doesn't mind. The furniture is cute, and she needs a change from floral prints and doilies.

She starts to think about the young couple that came to visit a couple of days ago. She assumed they were police officers, what with all the questions they were asking. They certainly looked like police officers. She didn't mind answering their queries. So many of her friends have died, and she's too shy to take her grandson's advice and join a senior's group to make new ones. The old ones are too dear to her heart. It was a nice change to have some people come calling; especially nice that they didn't want money.

The cookies in Eunice's oven are almost ready. Another ten minutes and they'll be golden and sweet, just as they always are. She's known around the suburb for her peanut butter pecan cookies. Whenever there's a bake-sale, she makes several dozen. People who have never tried them are always sceptical when she tells them what kind they are, but they're quickly won over. It's funny that she's making them now, considering the officers wanted to know about Albert when they knocked on her door that day. They were his favourite too.

Her day dreaming is interrupted by the doorbell. Eunice looks up from the catalogue and leans back, trying to see who's at the door through the window. It's a young man. He's wearing a very fine suit and holding a briefcase. "Just a minute," Eunice calls. She sets the catalogue down on the coffee table and puts her slippers on. When she opens the door, the young man smiles at her. "Eunice Johnson?"

"Yes."

"My name's Carl Pritchard, I'm a member of the city council here?" He has a thick Southern accent; his introduction sounds like a question.

"Yes sir, what can I do for you?" Eunice asks.

"Well ma'am, I'd like to discuss the layout of your property for a minute if I could? It seems we've got a bit of a zoning problem here and I'd like to clear it up."

"Do you have a badge or some sort of papers I could see, please?" Eunice says.

"Oh, yes ma'am, of course!" Pritchard says. He reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out an identification card issued by the state of South Carolina. "Where are my manners?"

Eunice looks at the ID card, then smiles.

"Thank you, sir. Would you like to come in?"

"With a fine smell like that coming from your kitchen, ma'am, you don't have to ask me twice!" Pritchard replies.

Eunice shows the councilman to the living room, then goes into her kitchen to make a pot of tea. The cookies are ready. She takes them out of the oven and puts them on the kitchen table, then opens the window to cool them off. She assembles the tea and cups on the serving cart and wheels it out. "My grandson bought me this cart from that Ikea place," she tells him. "It's very convenient for entertaining. I certainly am popular these days!"

"I'll bet you are, ma'am," her guest says. "I heard you'll be selling whatever goodies you've got in that kitchen tonight at the bake sale. Word is you always steal the show."

"Now, who told you that?" Eunice says, blushing.

"As a councilman, I have an obligation to find these things out, ma'am," he says with a wink. "Now, about this zoning situation."

Eunice and Mr. Pritchard chat for a while about zoning laws. Eunice doesn't really understand what he's talking about, even though it involves her little house. She can't keep her mind on what he's saying because she's missing her husband. He's the one who used to take care of these things, and the presence of this caller reminds her of that fact. Mr. Johnson was the main breadwinner, the one who did all the repairs, the one who made sure the bills were paid. Eunice sips her tea and thinks about the visits she's had in the past few days. She hadn't realized how lonely she was.

I'll call my grandson as soon as he leaves, she thinks.

When the conversation is over and Mr. Pritchard has explained everything, he smiles at her. "Now Mrs. Johnson, I hope you'll forgive me, but I just have to beg you for one of those cookies I see cooling on your table. They smell delicious!"

"Not at all, sir!" Eunice grins happily. She rises off the couch.

"Normally I'd blush to trouble you, but with your reputation…"

"Oh, it's no trouble at all!"

She puts a couple of the cookies on a plate and brings it out, then places it on the table. "Don't be shy, now, you take as many as you like."

"Thank you ma'am," Mr. Pritchard says. "Could I also have a little more tea, just so I can wash these down?"

"Certainly," Eunice replies.

She turns away and reaches for the serving cart.

And Mr. Pritchard puts a pistol to the back of her head and fires.

 **Forty**

 _Rebecca passed her examination. The day they found out, the students decided a round of drinks was in order. Rebecca was never much of a drinker, but she couldn't resist the lure of spicy chicken wings. The pub down the street from the University had the best wings she ever tasted. Of course she was in. She told them she just needed an hour to go home and get dressed._

 _She got into her car. The sun was shining that day, the dark golden rays of late afternoon. She buckled up and absently flipped through some mail that was lying on the passenger seat. It was all addressed to Rebecca Chambers. She smirked and thought, 'That's Doctor Chambers to you'. She made a mental note of who to call to tell the good news and started driving._

 _That's when she heard a deep voice speak from behind._

 _"Don't turn around."_

 _Rebecca gasped. A hand reached out from the back seat and took hold of her right arm. She baulked at the touch, her mind racing, when she caught sight of the end of a large, black tattoo. "Don't look down. Just keep driving."_

 _"Oh god…"_

 _"Congratulations."_

 _"Oh god…"_

 _"It's me."_

 _"I know. Oh god…"_

 _"Got some time to kill, angel?"_

 _"Yeah."_

 _"Your place or mine?"_

 _"You have a place?" she asked as she pulled into traffic._

 _"Yeah. Chateau Motel Six. You heard of it?"_

 _"I've been there with you, haven't I?"_

 _"You got it. We've got to stop meeting like this, huh?"_

 _Rebecca ignored the turn that lead to her apartment and sped onto the highway. "Whoa! What are you trying to do?" he laughed as her foot pressed down on the gas pedal._

 _"How much time do we have?"_

 _"That depends. You planning on celebrating?"_

 _"Definitely."_

 _"I mean with your friends."_

 _"Fuck 'em."_

 _"Then we've got all night."_

 _Someone cut her off in traffic. She slammed her hand down on the horn and swore at them. He chuckled again. "Slow down!"_

 _"Where've you been?"_

 _"Can't say. But I'm here now."_

 _"Does it have to be so long? I mean, can't you work it into your schedule somehow?"_

 _"It's hard to keep a schedule when you're on the lam," he said. "Can't take any chances."_

 _"You don't have to be so flippant."_

 _"Sorry."_

 _Rebecca found it difficult not to steal glimpses of him in the back seat. His hair was shorter, cut close to the nape of his neck, but his hazel eyes were still as intense as ever. He lay on his back, out of sight, and gazed at her, a hungry smile on his face. "What did you get on your test?"_

 _"It wasn't just a test, it was an exam."_

 _"What's the difference?"_

 _"You can flunk a test. You can't flunk an exam."_

 _"So what did you get?"_

 _"Ninety-eight percent."_

 _"Shit, not a hundred? You're slipping, aren't you, smarty pants?"_

 _"I missed a stupid question."_

 _"You gonna cry yourself to sleep tonight?"_

 _"Maybe I will," she said, irritated._

 _He backed off._

 _Rebecca pulled into the Motel Six. It was one of several places they had been to. It was very clean for a motel, and close to the University. She parked the car. "What do we do?"_

 _"We go in?" he said in a tone that suggested she should have known already._

 _"It's broad daylight."_

 _"It's going to look worse if one of us goes first. You go in and then some guy crawls out of your backseat? That won't go over well."_

 _"Are you sure no one followed you?"_

 _"I'm sure."_

 _"How do you know?"_

 _"Because I'm psychic," he replied, annoyed._

 _"Don't snap at me!" she said._

 _"Are we gonna go in or what?"_

 _She looked around the parking lot. Save for a few cars, it was empty. She got out first. Then he slipped from the backseat and stood up. One whiff of his scent was enough to give her butterflies._

 _They were given a room on the south-east side of the building. It was smaller than the others, but from it they could see the sunset. The first thing Rebecca did was check the washroom to see how clean it was. Then she pulled the bedspread off and started to fold it. He watched her for a moment. "Hey, Molly Maid, don't I at least get a hug?"_

 _"They don't wash these, you know," she said. "They never wash the bedspreads. They're all gross." She tried to fold it neatly, but the corners kept slipping from her hands._

 _"Maybe we should do it in the bathroom then," he said slyly. He came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist._

 _"Where? The bathroom's tiny."_

 _"In the shower?" He licked her ear._

 _"Billy, can't you help me with this?" she grumbled. He let go of her and stepped away._

 _"Hey, what's your problem?" he said._

 _"You're just standing there, you're not helping me at all, you just want to jump into bed, or the shower, or whatever, what do you think my problem is?" she snapped._

 _"You're the one who started folding things!"_

 _"Excuse me if I don't want lice!"_

 _"There's no lice, how fucking romantic is this?" he said, throwing his arms out wide._

 _Rebecca dropped the bedspread and stormed into the bathroom, unable to look the situation in the face. She sat on the toilet for a long time, going over the brief exchange, wondering if it was yet another instance where she picked a fight. When she came out again, he was sitting on the bed, waiting for her. "Why do we always argue when we see each other?" he asked quietly._

 _"I hate that we have to do this," she said, staring at her shoes. "I hate it more than I love being with you."_

 _"It's the way things are."_

 _"Haven't you found anything to prove you didn't do it?"_

 _He looked away. "How long do we have to keep this up?"_

 _"I don't know," he answered._

 _"I want a normal relationship."_

 _"Yeah? I want a normal life," he said bitterly. "You can't always get what you want."_

 _She approached him slowly, exhausted, and knelt over him on the bed. He looked up at her as she reached into her shirt, pulled out the chain she always wore and jangled the dog tags at the end. He smiled._

 _"I want to hold you whenever I want. I want to go to the movies. I want you to meet my family. They'd like you. I want anniversaries of whole years."_

 _"Me too," he said._

 _She leaned in, touched her forehead to his._

 _"This sucks," she whispered._

 _"Yeah," he agreed._

 _He took both her hands and pressed them against his chest. "Can you feel that?" he asked._

 _Rebecca smiled._

 _"Yeah."_

 _"Okay. Just checking. Remember it when I'm not around."_

 _"Yeah."_

 _There was a pause. "Billy?"_

 _"Yeah?"_

 _"I'm pretty sure it's safe now."_

 _"Yeah?"_

 _"You wanna..?"_

 _He laughed._

 _"You got it, angel."_


	9. Chapter 9

**Forty-one**

 _William didn't know what to feel when he received the message. Dr. Marcus had never before requested a one-on-one meeting with the young student. William thought that perhaps all the comments he muttered under his breath in class had in fact been audible. Part of him was flattered by the invitation; another frightened as hell._

 _He wouldn't dream of harming me, William thought. I'm the best student here._

 _He glanced down at his watch and picked up the pace._

 _It took a moment to catch his breath, but when he did, William knocked on Dr. Marcus' door with confidence. "Come in, Birkin." William turned the knob and stepped inside._

 _"You wanted to see me?"_

 _"Have a seat," Marcus said._

 _William approached the wide oak desk and sat down in the visitor's chair. Both his arms and his legs were crossed. Marcus picked up a file and started to flip through it. "Quite the speech you gave in class today, Birkin," he said pleasantly._

 _William couldn't tell if Marcus was being sarcastic. He didn't respond. "And quite an interesting theory. I checked out that theory of yours in the few hours of spare time I have in this facility." He lowered the file. "You were absolutely correct. Not a single flaw in your observation. Genius, really."_

 _"Thank you, sir," William said. He wanted to smile, but didn't._

 _Marcus extended a boney, liver-spotted hand, which William shook heartily._

 _"I believe the theory is worth looking into in greater detail," Marcus continued, a proud grin surfacing. "I was wondering if you'd like to join me in my research."_

 _William didn't expect the offer._

 _"I'm not finished my training…"_

 _"Birkin," the old man began in a low, conspiratorial voice, leaning forward, "you and I both know you're leaps and bounds ahead of everyone here. You need to get started on something worthwhile, something that's worthy of your skills."_

 _William didn't want to buy into it right away. There was something odd in the way Marcus was speaking to him; he felt like a hamster in a cage, being studied, monitored. "What about Wes?" he asked._

 _"Wesker is an impressive scientist in his own right," Marcus said. "Your skills far outweigh his, but he's still an important asset to our research. I've got an appointment with him right after this one with you, in fact. I'd like him to join us."_

 _William nodded, even though a part of him felt cheated. The smile on Marcus' face grew wider. "By the way, Birkin. I've wanted to ask you something for some time. What do you think of your… partner, Wesker?"_

 _"He's brilliant," Birkin replied flatly, as if he had rehearsed the answer._

 _Marcus' eyebrows rose._

 _"That's all you have to say?"_

 _"I'm not sure I'm following you."_

 _"Surely you've noticed it?" Marcus said with the same secretive tone he had earlier._

 _"Noticed what?"_

 _"Don't you think there's something… remarkable about him?"_

 _William lowered his gaze, pretended to search for the meaning of his Professor's weighted comments. Marcus could tell it was an act. "I'm sure you have. He's different, isn't he?" William suddenly felt cornered._

 _"James…"_

 _Marcus started to laugh._

 _"You have noticed, haven't you?" he guffawed. Droplets of spit flew from his mouth. One of them caught William in the eye._

 _"Is there something you'd like to share with me?"_

 _The Professor stopped his chortling, but the grin didn't fade._

 _"Yes, in fact there is. Have a look at this."_

 _He slid the file across the table. William's eyes met his before the young researcher lifted the cover and began reading._

 _One single word stood out from the rest._

 _His heart stopped. For a second, he felt ill. "It makes a lot of sense now, doesn't it?" Marcus asked._

 _William didn't answer. "I didn't believe it when I saw it either. But it's true. And he's the only one." He lifted his gaze and saw that William had turned pale. "What do you think of that?"_

 _"What does this mean?"_

 _"Among other things, he ages at two-thirds the rate of everyone else."_

 _"And?"_

 _Marcus leaned back in his chair. For a minute he said nothing._

 _"Science is a fascinating thing, isn't it Birkin? I wish I could continue my research indefinitely. We all hate the idea of leaving our precious discoveries behind when we… pass on…" His tone was reflective, leading._

 _William looked up from the file. "You'll be dead and gone. And he'll still be here. That's what it means."_

 _William closed the folder. "Now that's the kind of scientist Umbrella needs. And you, of course," he added._

 _William was about to say something when another knock sounded at the door. "Come in, Wesker," Dr. Marcus called out._

 _Albert opened the door and strode in. He nodded at William._

 _"Hello."_

 _"Hello, Wes."_

 _"Have a seat, Wesker," the Professor said slyly. "Birkin was just leaving."_

 **Forty-two**

Rebecca is glaring at him. He has her at arm's length against one wall of the penthouse. Her angry face is in his grasp, his fingers and thumb are pressing into her cheeks. He's looking at her with a frightening steeliness. The corners of his mouth are turned down, and his jaw is tight. Someone needs to say something, fast.

She knew she was picking a fight. She couldn't help it. He won't talk to her, won't answer her questions. It wasn't really that big a deal. She could have let it go, but she chose not to. She had to hold on, to push further, to start a fire. It's gone further than she thought it would. She went with the flow, the increasing onslaught, and before she knew it she was here, literally backed into a corner.

"Do it," she says.

"Don't tempt me."

"You don't need to be persuaded."

"No, I don't."

"You'd have no problem with hurting me, would you?"

"I'd have a big problem with hurting you, Miss Chambers. That doesn't mean I won't."

He lets go of her and walks back to his desk.

He doesn't know why she won't just let it go. He's never met someone so persistent. In the past he's been able to distract her, but she's unshakable tonight. It means that much to her. He can't tell whether it's arrogance or ignorance. All he knows is that it ends now.

"Why don't you do something, then?"

"Stop it."

"I'm sure you can come up with something all on your own."

"Now, Miss Chambers."

"You've threatened me before. Go ahead."

He turns around.

"You're asking for it."

"Yeah, I am."

He continues to stare at her, but doesn't move.

She comes away from the wall and strides forward, her eyes never leaving his face. "This is so… fairy tale bullshit," she says angrily.

"Yes."

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"Beauty and the Beast. Of course you're right."

"I'm sick of it."

"So am I."

"Really?" She says it as if it's a challenge.

"Yes."

"Even the Beast turned into a prince."

"I'm not a prince."

"Yeah, I fucking know that, believe me."

Pick, pick, pick…

He turns away from her again, heads for the elevator. "Where are you going?"

"You're in a mood. You need your space."

"You're fucking gallant, huh?"

He ignores her and puts his key in the lock to call for the lift. A glass paperweight sails through the air and smashes onto the floor. He looks up sharply as Rebecca's arm returns to her side.

She hears the familiar guillotine sound, and in a moment they're standing face to face again.

"You want me to hurt you?"

"Oops. How'd that get there?"

"I'm not impressed."

"You won't talk to me any other way."

"Why are you so interested in what I have to say?"

"I've told you why."

"There are some things you don't need to know."

"When I leave, what happens to us?" she demands.

"When you leave, there is no 'us'."

She stops speaking. Her lips stay parted. "That's the answer, isn't it? That's what you wanted to hear?" She can tell he's glaring at her. "The minute I return you to your team, we're finished. We forget everything that happened, and we forget that we've forgotten it, so it never existed. That's it."

He raises both his arms, holds them out, as if he's encouraging a fight. "Satisfied?" he asks.

"I can't believe…"

"Not this again."

"… you're so…"

"I see. You want me to swing by and pick you up on Saturday nights? Maybe go to the movies?"

"You don't have to be so glib!"

He starts to laugh. It's making her angrier.

"I appreciate your adoration, Miss Chambers…"

"Don't fucking call me that! Not now!"

"… but I'm going to have to decline your generous offer. Perhaps you're not through with the fairy tale just yet."

He turns to leave again, his keys jangling at the end of their ring. "You watched me that night," she says. "You watched me and Billy for a while."

He stops, but doesn't turn around.

"Yes, I did."

"You watched what went on. The monsters, the attacks, the blood, you watched it all."

"Yes."

"Yeah," she says, nodding slowly. "That's the Wesker I know."

He looks at her. "That's who you should have been all this time. Wesker. I should have kept it in mind. This guy watched me while I was under attack and didn't do anything to help."

"Rebecca… shut up," he growls.

"I was scared. Everywhere I turned there were blood stains and leeches and monsters. I was terrified. You knew the whole time, you knew it, and you just watched."

"Shut up."

"You're charming when you want to be, I'll give you that. But it doesn't change who you are. You're Wesker. The villain."

"Shut up!"

"Or what?"

He doesn't answer. "What'll it be? You'll crush me with your bare hands? Or maybe you'll shoot me again. You seem to be fond of that method."

"Fuck you," he says.

"You led the people who trusted you into that mansion for your own sick purposes!" she yells. "If I hadn't been ordered to wear a bullet proof…"

She stops in mid sentence, remembering the memo she received hours before her team was sent to its doom.

Effective immediately, all medical personnel are required to wear bullet-proof vests during missions to ensure officer safety.

Signed...

Her mouth opens. It can't be possible.

But it is.

"You knew?" she whispers.

"Of course I knew," he says softly.

She puts her hand to her forehead. Her heart is pounding. It all makes sense.

"The ammunition in the facility… the guns… there's no way anyone would have left them behind. You put them there, didn't you?"

He nods. "Oh god…"

She has to sit down. "Oh god…" She looks up at him. "Why?"

"Because I didn't want you to get hurt," he murmurs.

She shakes her head, can't believe what she's hearing.

"Why me?" she asks finally.

"Because I like you."

"You like me?"

He nods.

She reaches out to touch him, but he baulks and steps back. "I'm sorry," she says.

"Me too."

"For what?" She's timid, afraid of his answer.

He shakes his head.

 **Forty-three**

Leon is holding his pistol to the back of Ada's head.

They're standing where it all began, beneath the streetlamp near the dock. He's thought about this moment for a long time. He always wondered what it would be like if their places were switched, if she was the one worried that the next breath would be the last. He wonders if she feels as betrayed as he did each and every time she strolled out of his life. He gave her fair warning. Nothing lasts forever. Still, he's hesitating.

Ada slowly puts her hands in the air to show him she's unarmed. She's been with him a number of times these past weeks, but she can't be sure he won't go through with his orders. She has to tell him now, before it's too late, but she's hesitating. She can't be sure he'll believe her. And he has every right not to.

"Leon…"

"Don't speak."

"Leon, please…"

"We're not on the same side anymore, Ada. As of tonight."

"I know."

"Wesker's been arrested."

"I know. That's why I'm here."

"I'm not looking for an alliance."

"Leon, listen to me." She starts to turn around.

"Move and I'll blow your fucking head off."

This is what hurts the most; the way he has to speak to her now. He hates it, he isn't good at it, and she can tell. But she's an enemy of the state, and he has orders. They're unfair. If it was anyone else, he wouldn't have done it. It isn't just anyone, though. It's Ada. It's revenge. He's trying to decide whether all of it, everything, warrants a bullet in the head.

"I have a last request."

"No."

"Leon."

"Get down."

"You can't kill me without granting me a last request."

Her voice cracks. Her throat is getting sore.

"Get down on your knees."

She obeys.

"Please, Leon," she whispers.

He closes his eyes. He thinks, instead of pushing it out of his mind, he should have rehearsed. It would have made it easier.

"Go for it."

"I've been working for another organization," she starts. "Away from Wesker."

"I know that."

"Not the organization you know. Another one."

"Got bored?"

"Wesker killed them."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"I joined another team."

"That doesn't surprise me either."

"Leon, please…"

She sounds desperate. He stops. "I was spying on Wesker for them. I gave them as much information as I could without endangering my own hide. Three strikes, and that'd be it for me."

"How long have you been playing both sides?"

"A while."

The sirens go off in his head. She's about to reveal something.

He swallows.

"Go on."

"I thought they were the good guys. I thought they were in it to put an end to Umbrella, an end to Wesker's plan."

"What plan?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. He always has a plan."

"And you don't, I suppose."

"Eunice Johnson is dead, Leon."

Leon doesn't say anything. Ada's words echo in his head. He's trying to detect any falsehoods, anything that would indicate she's playing another game. He can't fool himself. He knows she's telling the truth. It doesn't make her any less dangerous, but he takes his finger off the trigger.

"What?"

"Eunice Johnson's dead. I went to her place. Someone blew her away."

"Shit…" he mutters. "Shit…"

He looks away, but leaves the pistol where it is. "When?"

"A few weeks ago."

"Oh shit…"

"They didn't try to cover anything up. They left it looking like what it was."

"What was it?"

"A warning."

"To who?"

"Wesker."

Ada shifts uncomfortably on the cracked asphalt. The tiny pebbles are digging into her knees. "Can I stand up?"

"Don't fucking move."

"Damn it, Leon!"

"I said don't fucking move."

She stops moving. Leon wants to let her stand, but she still can't be trusted. Not yet.

"She was killed by the organization I used to work for."

"You don't work for them anymore?"

"They murdered an innocent person. I can understand rubbing out someone dastardly, someone who's holding a lot of cards, calling some dubious shots. But not an old lady like Eunice."

"So you do have scruples after all."

It hurts, but she ignores it

"I did some work before I gave them the slip. Made a couple of discoveries."

"Let me guess. You're planning on sharing them with me."

"I've got nothing to lose now."

"I guess so, huh?"

"The same guys who gave the order to kill Eunice were the same guys that told your superiors to have me wiped out."

"My superiors are members of the Secret Service of the United States government."

"They don't seem to mind taking orders from the organization."

"You wanna tell me how you can prove all this?"

"I made a phone call to an old friend of yours. I told her I thought you were in trouble. She was all too willing to help. Call her if you don't believe me."

"Who?"

"Ashley Graham."

Leon's blood starts to boil.

"You got her involved?"

"She was the only one who could provide me with the information I needed."

"Doesn't matter that you might have put her life in danger!" he says, furious.

"She's probably saved your life! You don't understand!"

"You better explain yourself, then. Fast."

"The organization was happy to employ me because they knew I had access to Wesker. They used me to get to him. They found out about Eunice and killed her hoping he'd slip up. They got in touch with your superiors about taking me out knowing you and I would be in contact with each other. We're being played, Leon. Me, you, your team, we're all being played."

"I don't have time for this," he growls. "Who's playing us?"

"Hollum."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was working for Hollum, Leon. Hollum. The guy Claire Redfield reports to. The one who sent you on this mission in the first place."

Leon is silent. He pours over everything she's said, remembers every word. He knew there was always the chance she'd disappear again, so he learned how to commit everything she said and did to memory long ago. He turns it over and over, unable to believe it at first.

Then he remembers what kind of world it is.

"Get up," he says.

Ada rises slowly. Leon walks around and stands in front of her, still holding the pistol. His finger is back on the trigger. "Not Claire."

"I don't think she knows," Ada says.

"She doesn't know. She can't know."

"I don't think she does. If she did, she'd have this already." She reaches into her pocket, pulls something out, and hands it to him. It's another reconnaissance disk. "I swiped this from Hollum before I got out. You've got to get it back to your team. It's… important."

They're quiet. He's glaring, his knuckles are white. Ada's face is stony. "Alright. That's all I wanted to say."

Leon scowls. His face is turning red. "Do it now, Leon." He shakes his head, but holds the pistol tighter, still aiming for her head. "Go on. You can always say you got the information too late."

He can't answer her. "You've got a free pass, Leon. And I deserve it, after what I've done to you. Do it. I forgive you." She closes her eyes. "And I'm sorry."

For a moment, all she can hear are the waves lapping up against the dock and the far away sounds of a ship's horn blowing. She tries to remember the young man she met all those years ago, the one who was too willing to put his life on the line for her. She tries to remember what it felt like to be in his arms, to lay with him in the afternoon light, to be kissed and touched by him, but she can't. All she can think of is the hurt she's caused him, the anger he must still harbour, and the revenge he's entitled to.

She starts to cry when she hears him toss the gun into the water.

In a second he has her locked in a strong embrace, safe from her pursuers. She leans against him and lets her tears flow, and a decade of sadness and regret is released with them. She starts to gasp, to shake, but his arms never weaken, never falter. He thinks that if he had only been able to save her ten years ago none of this would have happened, and she would have had the life she always wanted. Now that she's here with him, broken, desperate, but finally on his side, he vows to protect her, no matter what.

She pulls away and he wipes the remaining tears away with his thumbs. "Hello, handsome," she says softly.

"Hello."

"You lied to me."

He knows what she's referring to.

"Guess I did. But so did you."

"Yeah."

"Shoulda known."

"Yep. Shoulda known."

He smiles.

"What do we do now?" he asks.

She grins.

"I've always worked for one asshole or another. All my life."

"Me too."

"Wanna go rogue?" she asks.

He considers it.

"Yeah. I think I do."

 **Forty-four**

Rebecca is going through his closet. It's getting late. The sun has set, but it's still light out; the clouds in the sky are orange and pink. She was absently walking through the penthouse a while ago while he sat at his desk. It was quiet. She didn't mind so much this time; it gave her an opportunity to think. It dawned on her that she has never seen him dress, yet every day he's wearing a different black suit. She had the urge to see all his clothes lined up together, so she went to the bedroom and opened the closet door.

Every suit is hung the same way, in three pieces. Every one of them is black, but some are fancier than others; pinstriped, or with gold accenting buttons. Rebecca doesn't understand why, if he's able to make his own rules, he chooses to wear this kind of outfit every day. She searches for t-shirts or jeans, but all she can find is one row of crisp, black suits after another.

She hasn't reached the other end yet.

When everything is quiet, she starts daydreaming. She thinks of different places, different circumstances, a different kind of dialogue. It's a dangerous pastime, especially given her choice of fantasy. Sometimes she catches herself before she goes too far and pushes it out of her mind quickly. Other times she allows her mind to wander, to indulge. Ultimately, though, she ends up feeling the same way; embarrassed, ashamed, and aroused.

She's just about to get to the very back of the closet when she feels she's being watched. She turns and sees him standing in the doorway. For a second his face is blank and her heart skips, thinking he's angry. Soon, though, she sees a small smile find its way onto his lips. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"I just wanted to look at your clothes."

"Why?"

"You always wear the same thing. Well, not the same thing, but the same kind of thing. You're always in a suit. Don't you own anything comfortable?"

"I'm comfortable."

"You can't be."

"I assure you I am."

He steps into the room and watches her reaction to his wardrobe. He can tell she's impressed with the quality of his clothing, but soon she turns it into a show, looking at him after every suit she examines, her face projecting images of mock irritation and disdain. He finds it amusing and smiles, then starts to play back, nodding every time she grimaces. When she gets to the very back of the closet, however, the show is over. She holds the final outfit apart from the rest, and a look of sadness descends on her lovely features.

He still has his S.T.A.R.S. uniform.

"You kept it," she says.

He can't quite see what she's referring to and approaches, peering over her shoulder. He stops when he realizes what it is.

"I guess I did."

"Why?"

"Haven't gotten around to throwing it out yet."

She takes hold of the blue shirt sleeve and runs it through her hand.

"You looked good wearing it," she says, nodding.

"Did I?"

"Yeah. Blue's a good color for you."

"I prefer black."

"Oh yeah?"

"It's more appropriate."

She looks at him.

"You know… what you looked like when you wore it?"

"What?"

She pushes the fear of embarrassment out of her head.

"Like a hero."

He sighs heavily and walks over to her. She steps away from the closet, still looking at him. He reaches out and flattens the uniform against the wall to get a full view of it. He doesn't know why he still has it with him. Of course, it's the last thing he's been concerned about. He hasn't worn it in almost ten years. Looking at it hanging there now, it's foreign to him, no longer something he understands. He decides to take it off the hanger and have it disposed of when Rebecca's soft voice breaks his reverie. "Captain?"

"Miss Chambers."

A pause.

"Can you put it on for me?"

He turns his head and comes face to face with Rebecca's large green eyes. He shakes his head.

"No."

Her cheeks start to flush.

"I'd love to see you in it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"No."

They both stare at it for a long while. Rebecca looks down and notices a pair of black boots. They aren't helping matters.

"The boots too."

"What?"

"The boots too."

She smiles, steals a glance at him. He's smiling as well.

He unbuttons his jacket, slides it off, takes out a free hanger, and hangs it up. He removes his gloves, lays them on his dresser. His brings his hands to his collar, loosens the buttons, one after another, so that soon his shirt is open. He removes it, drapes it over the back of a chair. He unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the belt loops in his pants. Then he unfastens his pants, pulls the zipper down, eases out of them, and strolls over to his bed, folding them as he goes. He puts them down, then returns to the closet. Rebecca walks to the centre of the room, so she can take it all in.

He puts on the blue combat pants first. There are pockets on both sides. They're empty. Next, he takes out the boots, still smartly polished, without a single faded crease. He puts them on and crouches over to tie them. He takes out the blue shirt with the logo sewn neatly onto the short sleeve, slides it onto his naked torso, fastens each button meticulously, then tucks the shirt into his pants. A belt is buckled around his solid hips, a tactical vest is secured across his back and over his broad chest. He leans forward and is obscured by the closet door. When he stands straight again, he's wearing black leather firing gloves.

She's often pictured him wearing this uniform, the only thing she ever saw him in until that night in the warehouse. She remembers her impression of him when she first met him; he was austere, focused, and didn't smile once. She thought perhaps the nature of his work, which, she thought then, was saving lives, had caused him to be so serious, so demanding. She knows differently now, of course, after her own experiences and years of reconnaissance training. She knows he's not a hero, never was, never will be.

But he definitely looks handsome in uniform.

"Rebecca?"

"Yeah?"

She doesn't look at him.

"There's something more that you want, isn't there?"

She continues to stare at his boots. He unfolds his arms. "Isn't there?" He leans into her. She can faintly smell his cologne. "Or are you too shy to ask for it?"

"Ask for what?" she says, determined that he be the one to say it, not her.

"You want me to keep it on, don't you?" He puts a finger under her chin and tilts her face up. "Mmm?" He grins, eager to hear her response.

"Yeah," she murmurs.

"Are we playing a game, then?"

Rebecca only needs a moment to think about it.

"Yeah."

"Alright," he says before strolling out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

When he's gone, Rebecca starts beaming. She leaves the bedroom and slips down the stairs. Just as she thought, he's sitting at his desk. The papers are stacked in three neat piles. He looks like he's pouring over them. She approaches him timidly and stops a couple of feet in front of it. She doesn't say anything; her mind has drawn a complete blank. She waits. Eventually he looks up at her.

He stands and walks out from around the desk, his gaze squarely on her. Rebecca's heart starts to race. She doesn't know what angle he'll play. He takes her hands and draws her forward, pulling her into his chest, holding her wrists behind his back as he leans against his desk. She tests his grip, tries to pull away, but he holds her fast. He dips down, brushes his lips over hers to let her feel the sinful grin on his face. "I've always wanted to do this," his murmurs. Then he straightens up, turns around, and sweeps his arm over his desk, knocking everything to the floor.

In a minute he has her spread out on his desk, her legs hanging over the side nearest his chair. He stands between them and roughly pulls off her pants, exposing her thin panties. He runs a knuckle over her crotch, feels that she's wet, and seats himself before her. Then he heaves both her legs over his shoulders, resting them on his back, bends over, and begins to lick her greedily. Rebecca lets out a yelp and thinks about the man whose tongue is now massaging her. The feeling is so hot, so intense, that all she can do is watch as he nods in satisfaction. He starts to moan enthusiastically as her hips buck against his mouth. He makes no attempt to hold her down. This time, he wants her to writhe.

"Albert…"

"Becca…"

"… Wesker…"

"Mmmm…"

"What does your name mean?"

"What does it mean?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Mmmm… 'Albert' means 'Noble'," he says between swirls, between her whimpers, "and 'Wesker' means 'Defender'." He chuckles. "Two things I'm not."

She laughs.

"No…"

"Come here," he says.

She slides her legs off his shoulders, puts her feet on the floor. She closes her eyes and hears him unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants. He doesn't take them off.

Rebecca abandons the fantasy, the dream of being taken by a hero, an officer whose mission it is to protect her. The reality is she's turned on, and about to be fucked by a man she knows little of, a man who's capable of immense cruelty. The reality is he wears sunglasses to hide his threatening eyes, but his body is toned, muscled, impenetrable. The reality is she's the only woman in the world who can get him hard, make him sweat, make him behave this way. She abandons the hero, and is left wanting, desperately craving, the villain.

She opens her eyes again to see him gazing at her with hunger and lust. He doesn't have to ask for anything; she drops to her knees, her lids lowered, and starts to please him with her mouth and hands. He moans as she licks him, grunts as she strokes him vigorously, throws his head back and pants with need and desire. He puts one hand under her chin, one on the back of her head, and holds her as she sucks and fondles him. She peers up at him through thick, brown lashes, a smirk of enjoyment there on her face to coax him. He laughs breathlessly as he realizes how gloriously kinky all of it is; the uniform, the willing young thing on her knees, the desk, and decides to play it up. He lets go of her, puts his hands behind his head, and leans back with a long, arrogant groan.

Rebecca joins in, and the both of them giggle as she works to bring him to the edge. "Harder…" he grunts, then releases the tension with a grateful laugh. "Yeah…"

"Come on now, Captain," she goads.

"Fuck…"

He spreads his legs wider. She feels him throb and knows he's about to come. He throws his head to the side, the humour gone from his face and replaced with feral need. His breath quickens, and every muscle in his body tenses. He opens his eyes; there is nothing else he wishes to picture but this girl, Rebecca Chambers, on her knees, in his penthouse, worshipping his body for who knows how much longer.

He stops fighting and allows himself the ultimate release.

It's dark outside when Rebecca crawls into his lap. He pretends to be asleep, but her poking soon brings a smile to his face. He growls and leans into her, nibbles on her earlobe. "I have to get back to work," he says.

"Now?"

"Yes."

"It's late."

"No rest for the wicked."

She looks down at the hollow of his neck. For a moment, he thinks he's upset her. "Are you offended?"

"About what?"

"Who I am. What I am."

"What are you?"

"A villain."

She stops to think a moment before leaning in to kiss him. His lips are sweet.

"Don't say that," she whispers. "Not now."

 **Forty-five**

Claire doesn't have much time. News like this travels fast, and Ada Wong is still at large. Once word gets out that Wesker has been arrested she'll hear from Hollum. He'll demand to know what's going on. He'll start asking questions, expect a full report. Claire stands in the centre of her office. Her eyes dart from her filing cabinet, to the piles of paper on her desk, to her laptop. She has no choice. She has to start shredding documents. There isn't a moment to lose.

Claire is working out the details in her head as she flips through her files, trying to get them straight so she can finally tell her team what's going on. How she was approached by Hollum after the Rockfort Island incident, how she spent years training for the position, and how, slowly and surely, she came to the conclusion that something is terribly wrong. She can't put her finger on what, but that's no longer an excuse. She has to let them know now.

She walks over to the small paper shredder that's next to her desk and flips the switch. The room fills with the high-pitched squeal of gears grinding together. Claire stands back and watches as the machine loses momentum and dies. Furious, she kicks it, and sends the flimsy thing sailing across the room. Like everything else in the facility, it's far beyond salvageable. She doesn't have the luxury of ordering another one. She tosses everything she can into her small metal waste basket and is about to set it on fire when the door to her office flies open, then slams shut. Claire looks up sharply and sees Chris storming towards her.

"What the fuck is going on, Claire?" he demands.

"What do you mean?"

"You know fucking well what…"

"A lot's going on, Chris, pick one and we'll start from there."

"How long have you known that Cumberland used to work for Umbrella?"

"I hired him because he used to work for them."

"Why?"

"We needed someone who used to be on the inside to advise us."

"No one else could have given us the info?"

"Calm down, Chris."

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down!" he snaps. "After everything you and me have been through, don't you fucking tell me to calm down!"

He stands a few feet away, glowering at her. After weeks of working on this mission, he's had enough. He's sick of being the last to know anything, sick of being left in the dark. There was a time when he was in this same predicament, unable to make sense of anything, stumbling onto information that was purposefully held from him. The person who put him and the people he loved most into that situation is in a holding cell in the basement of the facility.

Now he's afraid that his own sister may be guilty of the same crimes.

"Cumberland is the only person who's ever escaped from Umbrella," Claire says calmly. "He's the only one who came to his senses quick enough to get out alive."

"This is what he told you?"

"Yes, and I checked it out. His story's straight."

"Wesker knows him, Claire. You should've seen it downstairs. He looked like he was gonna tear him apart. What the fuck are we supposed to do?"

"I'm figuring that out now."

"Does Hollum know Cumberland's ex-Umbrella?"

"No."

"Your own boss doesn't know?"

"No, he doesn't."

Chris shakes his head.

"You have to be straight with me, Claire. You really have to be straight with me, because I don't know what the fuck's going on."

Claire sighs. She knows this is difficult for her brother. He's older. By all rights he should be leading a team, not her. Circumstances being what they are, however, it's best that she be the one to take control of things. She's the more level headed of the two.

"Hollum contacted me when I had finished my preliminary training and asked me to put together a team to take out Umbrella's database. I was searching for a staff doctor when Cumberland got in touch with me. He told me his past and I had a background check done on him. I figured he'd be the best man for the job, so I hired him."

"Why didn't you tell Hollum?"

"Just in case," she says.

Chris nods. He understands what she means. "If Hollum knows I have ex-Umbrella on staff they'd never allow it; they won't be able to see the angle. Plus, Cumberland's secret could get out. He could be tracked down and killed. So I kept it quiet."

"So what's with the fire?" he asks, noticing the lighter in Claire's hand.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," she says gravely. "There've been too many shifts in focus, you know? 'Destroy the main database' is changed to 'Retrieve'. There've been too many changes of direction. We're like chickens with our heads cut off." She meets his eyes. "I think we've been had, Chris."

"Why?"

"I got a call from Hollum last night," she says. "He told me to take Wesker into custody if we encountered him."

"So what?" Chris says. "Someone needed to apprehend him, Claire. The guy's a psychopath."

"It's what he said, Chris. He said to take Wesker into custody and notify him immediately, and then turn him over…"

"And...?"

"… for analysis."

Chris stops.

"For 'analysis'?"

Claire nods.

"Something's not right here. If they're so concerned with our safety…"

"… then why do they want him alive?" he finishes her sentence.

"And for what?"

Claire looks down at the files in her hand. From the hallway, they hear Jill ask Leon where he's going. They can't hear his reply. The door is closed; his voice is muffled.

"I'm not going through this again," she says, shaking her head. "I'm not risking anyone else's life."

Chris approaches her and takes the folders away from her. He sets them on her desk. She nods. "I should leave them, you're right. I need more information." She closes her eyes and rubs her temples. "Have Rebecca come up to my office as soon as she can."

"Alright."

"We don't have much time, Chris. Hollum's gonna get wind of this."

"I know."

"I have to figure this out or we're all fucked."

He nods.

"You'll figure it out, Claire. If anyone can figure it out, you can."

She lets her hands drop and smiles at him.

"You're respecting my authority now?" she asks.

He grins and looks away.

"For now."

Just in case.


	10. Chapter 10

**Forty-six**

 _Chris had been drinking for most of the night. At three in the morning he was on the phone with her, slurring his words, begging her to come over. She told him she didn't think it was a good idea, but relented when it became clear he needed someone. She had never heard him sound quite like that before. She knew it was serious._

 _He opened the door wearing nothing but pyjama pants and a flimsy t-shirt. He hadn't bothered to comb his hair, and his beard was growing in. Dark circles were under his eyes. They were red; she could tell he had been crying. He asked her to come in, and she hadn't finished stepping over the threshold when he put his arms around her and started sobbing. She ran her hand over his messy hair. "Jill… baby… Jilly…"_

 _"I'm sorry, Chris."_

 _She left him standing near the door while she went to his kitchen and poured him a glass of water. When she returned he was slumped in a torn easy chair with his arm over his eyes to block out the overhead light. He was muttering something she couldn't understand. She approached him, took his free hand and squeezed it. "Come on, Chris," she said, handing him the glass. He refused to hold it. His fingers were weak._

 _"Jilly Jilly… I fucked up, baby…"_

 _"Drink the water, Chris."_

 _"I fucked up big time…"_

 _"You're gonna dehydrate."_

 _"I'm such a fuckin' asshole…"_

 _She put the glass down on the coffee table. A bottle of Wild Turkey was standing open; three quarters of the liquor had been swigged._

 _She moved the back issues of the men's magazines he kept out of the way and sat down on the coffee table. She didn't know what to say, so she kept silent and watched him. Sometimes he looked like he was speaking; his lips moved, his expression changed, but ultimately no words escaped him. He didn't move for a long time. She tried to give him the glass of water again. He took it finally and drank it, spilling a little in the process. He gave her the empty glass. "You should get to bed," she said. "It's late."_

 _"I'm not tired."_

 _She smiled and started to get up when he took hold of her wrist. "Where're you going?" he asked._

 _"I'm gonna put the glass away."_

 _"Come back… when you're done…"_

 _She put the glass in the kitchen sink and stood in the dark for a moment, collecting her thoughts. She recognized the look in his eyes. It was loneliness, need, desire. She had seen that look; it had crossed her face a number of times that night as well._

 _She knew what he was looking for._

 _Deciding it was best to take her leave, she went back into the living room. "I'm gonna go now."_

 _"No… aw, no way, man…"_

 _"Yeah, I gotta go. It's late."_

 _He shook his head while she tried to explain, rose out of his seat._

 _"No… no… you gotta stay…"_

 _He walked over to her, nearly stumbling over the coffee table in the process._

 _"Hey…" she said, "you're alright now. I'm gonna go."_

 _He put his arms around her._

 _"Naw, you gotta stay…" He held her tightly. "I fucked up, huh?"_

 _"You're really drunk, Chris."_

 _"Yeah… yeah, I'm drunk…" he admitted._

 _His hands moved over her back slowly, intimately. She patted his shoulders and tried to ease out of his embrace. "I'm gonna go home now Chris, okay?" She felt him shake his head._

 _"I went and fucked it all up…" he said hoarsely._

 _"Come on."_

 _"I fuck everything up… Jill… everything…"_

 _"You need to be alone."_

 _"No…" He pulled away enough to look down at her. "No…"_

 _He gazed at her with such intensity her cheeks burned hot. He put an arm around her waist, drew her closer to him. Fighting her own longing, she spoke gently._

 _"We can't do this, Chris."_

 _"Yeah… yeah we can…"_

 _"I'm not in love with you."_

 _"Oh… oh, no?" he asked._

 _"No."_

 _"Oh… that's okay…" he said, nodding steadily. "It's not… this is about… survival…"_

 _His shirt came off first, then hers. His breath was hot on her neck. He led her through the apartment as they kissed with voracious tongues, their eyes closed, their shoulders brushing against the walls. They fell on his unmade bed and were soon tangled in the sheets and covered in sweat. He tried to unhook her bra the traditional way, but he was too impaired for such delicate work. Frustrated and eager to acquaint himself with her naked breasts, he simply took hold of it and tore the front open, shamelessly exposing her. "Jill…" he moaned, fondling her with roughened palms. He slid out of his pants as she pushed him away in order to rid herself of her jeans. "Yeah… fuck, that's hot…" he said when she became as naked as he was. They looked at each other, assessing the situation, making sure it was what they both wanted. Then he pinned her down on the mattress, took hold of himself, and slid inside._

 _They were groping each other in moments, panting, grunting, their sweaty bodies intertwined in a torrid embrace. He pumped himself inside her furiously, his face twisted and pained, his fingers woven together with hers, ensuring she wouldn't leave him. Her eyes shut tight, she pictured another man, another room, and indulged in the sensations he gave as he fucked her. Numbed by the alcohol, he ground his hips against her, swirling his erection deep in her body. She cried out, and he groaned, savouring the sound of her moaning in need. "Jill… baby…" he growled through clenched teeth._

 _"Oh god…"_

 _"Jill… fuck! Jill!"_

 _"Billy…"_

 _"I'm sorry, baby…"_

 _"Billy… God, Billy…"_

 _"Rebecca…"_

 _"Chris…"_

 _They opened their eyes, looked at each other, and understood. It wasn't about them._

 _It was about survival._

 _"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Yeah… you be Jill… I'll be… whoever you want me to be…"_

 _"Yeah…"_

 _"Okay?"_

 _"Yeah…"_

 _"Okay…"_

 _Another kiss; then they stopped talking altogether._

 **Forty-seven**

"Come out, Wesker!" Claire says.

"There's still time," he says to her.

Rebecca stops and looks at him.

"What?"

"For you to change your mind."

"Albert…"

"Rebecca?" Chris says.

"I'm here, guys."

"Captain Redfield," he calls.

"Wesker."

"Put the vial on the floor and slide it over here."

"Where are you?"

He steps out from where he was concealed. All of them are here. They're alone, standing back to back. He fixes his gaze on their captain, but he's not thinking about the sample she has with her, even though he's asked her for it. He watches Claire take it from her vest and put it on the floor. She slides it over to him. He picks it up and looks at it.

What's important?

"Your turn, Wesker. Send Rebecca over."

He turns his head and looks at her. He knows exactly what she's thinking, even though she's not saying a word. Enough time has passed to be able to figure it out, but it still feels like a flash in the pan. Rebecca starts to walk back to her team mates, back to where she belongs.

When she passes him, he reaches out and grabs her.

"Let her go, Wesker!" Chris says, levelling his gun.

"Wait!"

She turns her head. "What?"

"Don't go."

"Albert…"

"Please don't leave me…"

"I can't stay with you forever."

"You can't leave."

"This was the deal, Albert. I have to go."

"Please don't."

"Let her go now, Wesker!"

"Give me a fucking minute!"

"Wait, guys, wait…" Rebecca says.

She turns her back to them.

"I can't stay here."

"You don't understand."

"What?"

"My heart beats when you're around."

"I can't believe you're giving me lines now!" she says, angry, haunted.

"It isn't a line, it's true. It doesn't beat. It hasn't since I came back."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm alive when you're with me. I don't know why, I can't explain it. If you go I won't feel it again. Don't leave me."

Rebecca looks at him warily.

"Are you lying to me?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me, Albert."

"It's true, I swear it."

She looks beyond his shoulder at the darkness they emerged from. Rebecca is the Alpha Medic for the team. There's only one thing she can think to do.

"If you're telling me the truth, then you come with me."

"What?"

"You give me that vial, and you come with me, and we find a cure."

"There is no cure."

"Have you ever tried to find one?"

"No."

"There has to be a cure."

"I can't go with you."

"You said you'd do anything for me. That's what I want."

She holds out her hand. "You give me the vial and you come with me. And we find a cure. Or we say goodbye here. Because there's no way in hell I'm living the life you live. No way."

"There is no cure, Rebecca."

"You said anything. That's what I want."

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. If he gives her the vial, it could lead to his destruction. If he doesn't, she'll leave, and he'll never feel his own heart beat again.

He owes her everything.

So he gives her everything he has.

When Rebecca is holding the sample, she calls over her shoulder to Claire. "Captain! Catch!" Claire catches the vial in mid air. "He's coming with us."

 **Forty-eight**

Wesker reels around and lunges forward, and Chris is immediately sent flying; he smashes against the far wall of Cumberland's office and slides down to the floor, gasping for breath. Leon and Jill rush Wesker, even though they have no weapons. He senses their imminent attack and turns his head sharply, a menacing look in his eye. He pulls one arm back and sends them both across the room with a massive backhand. Then he pounces on Chris, twisting the young man's shirt up near the collar, and raises a steel fist, ready to strike him dead, when he hears Rebecca scream.

"NO!"

She rushes over to where they are, crouched in a corner, their eyes locked in a frightening stare. "Please no!" Rebecca wails, grabbing Wesker's shirt sleeve and squeezing it. "Please!" Wesker breathes in brusquely through his nose, prepares to deal Chris a terrible blow that will surely kill him. "No!" she screams again. "God no! Please!" She throws herself between them and grabs onto him, pressing her cheek to his as she wraps her arms around him. He doesn't move. Chris remains defiant. He's proud of himself.

If this is his final moment, he takes comfort in the fact that no one, anywhere, can ever call him a coward.

Leon fights to pull himself up again. In all his years, he's never been punched like that, with so little effort made by his assailant. He groans and looks at where Wesker has Chris pinned against the wall. He can see Rebecca between them; can see her arms around him. He tries to say something but can't find the air to speak. He looks over at Jill.

Her eyes are filled with tears. She can't catch her breath either. She looks on, helpless, convinced she won't get the chance to say goodbye.

They hear Rebecca speak again.

"Albert, please…"

Their hearts rise up to their throats when they see her turn her face into his, hear her implore him softly. Her hands smooth over the back of his head, her fingers stroking the nape of his neck. Her intensity never falters as she begs him to release her team mate. His fist is still back, ready to slam into his prey, and Rebecca slides a hand over it, clawing at it desperately. "Please, Albert… let him go… please…" Both her arms encircle him again, and she clasps her hands together. "Please, Albert… Albert… don't do this…"

Their eyes widen when Wesker lowers his hand.

Still clutching Chris' collar, he slips his arm around Rebecca's waist and holds her against him tightly. "Listen to me, Redfield," he growls with an unmistakable timbre of violence. "Remember this: you're only alive because I let you live. You and your team. You're alive because I haven't killed you yet. But my patience is running out." The hand around Rebecca squeezes her possessively. "You watch your step." He lets go of Chris' collar and stands up slowly, still holding the young medic in his arm.

The door to Cumberland's office bursts open. Claire barges in, holding her magnum, a determined scowl on her face. She's at Wesker's side in mere moments. She presses the barrel of the gun against his temple. "Let go of her," she says.

He sneers and presses Rebecca firmly against the front of his body. "Let go, motherfucker."

"Such language, Captain Redfield."

"Now!" she yells.

Wesker laughs. His arm loosens, and he lets Rebecca go. The medic takes a step back, still looking at him. Claire speaks steadily. "You touch any member of my team and I'll kill you. That's a promise."

"Is that so?"

A slice through the air with his arm is all it takes to disarm her. The magnum falls to the ground and slides under a table, useless now that no one is wielding it. Claire's gaze doesn't falter, and the gun is quickly replaced by another. She came prepared.

"Yeah," she says. "That's so."

Wesker chuckles again as he strolls towards the open door.

"I'll keep your little threat in mind," he says. "Now, if you'll excuse me please. I have to return to my cell. It's past my curfew."

He leaves, and they realize the holding cells are no longer aptly named.

No one speaks. Leon finally gets to his feet and offers his hand to Jill. She takes it gratefully and allows herself to be pulled up. Claire runs her hand through her hair, uses her fingertips to massage her scalp with small circular motions. "What do we do now?" Leon asks her.

"We wait. That's all we can do."

"Do you think he's gone back downstairs?" Jill says.

"I'm pretty sure, yeah." She looks up at Rebecca. "Are you alright?"

Red faced, Rebecca nods. Claire then looks at her brother. "What about you? Are you alright?" He doesn't answer.

He's glaring at Rebecca.

Jill doesn't approach Chris. She recognizes the look on his face. She stops where she's standing and stares at him, waiting for it. Leon notices next. Then Claire.

Rebecca doesn't have to look. She can feel it.

It's the same look he gave her that night in the warehouse.

He knows her too well.

"You fucked him, didn't you?" he asks.

"Hey!" Leon says, warning him to keep quiet, to stay in line.

"Chris…" Claire starts, but Chris' gaze remains the same.

Rebecca turns her head and looks him right in the eye.

"Yeah," she says, nodding deliberately. "I did."

The silence that follows is deafening.

 **Forty-nine**

Jill has finished throwing up. Her face is pale, her blue eyes are watering from the recent retching. She holds on to the sides of the sink and tries not to faint. She hasn't puked in years. Her hands are shaking, her legs rubbery. She's trying her best to breathe normally, but it's not working. She wants to hide.

She's just finished looking at the final recon disk.

Chris is running his hand over her back, trying to soothe her for what it's worth. He was the first person she stumbled to when she found them all in the lounge. He held her hair back, spoke to her in a soft and firm voice. He's concerned, but extremely uncomfortable. He listened to everything she told them about the contents of the disk. Now he wishes he hadn't heard it. But she needs him. He has to be understanding, despite it all. And he's not used to it. His left eye is black.

The food on the table is getting cold. They ordered from Cha Liu's again. Jill was supposed to have come down a long time ago, but she wanted to get things done. Now no one has an appetite. Claire looks at the containers of vegetables and noodles. Normally she would think it was such a waste of food. Instead, she's looking at Leon.

Leon licks his busted bottom lip and looks back at her. He knew the contents of the disk were sinister, considering all Ada went through to get it. He knew it would explain a lot, fill in a lot of holes. He didn't expect what Jill has just told them. The look on Claire's face reminds him of the past, and things he'd rather forget. He never noticed how pretty Claire is. He wonders where Ada is, and if she's alright.

"Come on, Jilly, breathe…"

"Oh shit…"

"Come on, breathe…"

Jill braces herself. With a shaky hand, she turns the cold water on, full blast, to splash her face.

"We have to show him," Leon says to Claire.

"I know. Fuck," she looks away and shakes her head. "Fuck."

"We should just tell him," Jill says weakly.

"He's not gonna believe us if we tell him," Leon answers her. "We have to show him."

"Can you give her a minute, Leon?" Chris says, irritated.

Leon doesn't look at him.

"We should all be there when he sees it," he continues.

"I agree," Claire says.

Chris looks at Claire.

"Why?"

"So we can stop him if he gets out of hand."

"Fuck him," Chris says. "I don't need to see that shit. Let him watch it with Rebecca."

"You'd trust him to be left alone with her and watch that?" Claire asks.

"I don't really give a shit," he snaps.

"Chris, please," Jill says. She squeezes his hand. He stops.

"Has Hollum contacted you yet?" Leon asks Claire.

"Not yet," she says, shaking her head. "I'm surprised."

"Why's that?"

"He's got to know we've arrested him by now."

"Where's Rebecca?"

"Downstairs."

Chris snorts. Leon turns his head and glares at him.

"Got something to say?"

"Nothing you'd want to hear," Chris replies.

"Try me."

"Stop it, both of you," Claire says.

"I already told you to shut up about that," Leon says, the anger creeping into his usually calm voice.

"And I already told you what I think," Chris says.

"Oh shit…" Jill mumbles. She's getting dizzy again. Chris turns back to her and holds her against him. Jill closes her eyes, grateful that he's there. She can't pay attention to what's going on.

"When do we show him?"

"Tonight, if possible," Claire answers. She walks over to Jill, whose head is still in the sink, and speaks gently. "Do you think you can walk us through it again?"

Despite her nausea, Jill nods.

"Why tonight?" Chris demands.

"Because any minute now Hollum is going to try and contact me," Claire says. "And if he finds out what's going on, we're fucked."

"Just give Wesker the fucking disk and let's get the fuck out of here!"

"We're not just leaving him with it," Leon says.

"Why the hell not?"

"We owe it to Rebecca, for one."

"Bullshit!" Chris snaps. "It's your bullshit empathy, Leon, nothing else!"

"Maybe."

"What the fuck is the matter with you? Do you know who he is?"

"Yeah, I know."

"So how can you care?"

"Because it's not fair!" Leon yells. He stares his team mate down. "It's not fair, and it's not right!"

For a minute they stand silently, glaring daggers, the only sound in the room being the buzzing of the cheap lights. Finally, Jill stands up straight and touches Chris' face. She understands him better than anyone. She turns around. "I'll go cue up the disk."

"If you need an hour, Jill…" Claire says.

"No, I'm fine." She brushes her hair out of her face and heads for the lounge door. Chris turns around, his hands gripping the counter, and watches her go. When she's left the room, he looks at Leon, his face red with rage.

"Fuck you and your bleeding heart," he says as steadily as he can. "It's gonna get us all killed."

 **Fifty**

Claire is standing in the middle of a junk yard. There are broken down cars everywhere she looks. They're all missing doors, windows, tires, and are so rusted they're probably not worth salvaging. A family of stray cats has made its home in the backseat of a burned out Mustang. They watch as she paces back and forth, pulling her trench coat closed around her throat. She can't help but think they're suspicious of her. Cats are like that.

This is supposed to be the last reconnaissance disk. Jill volunteered to pick it up, but Claire insisted she stay at the facility. There's still a lot to do before phase four goes into effect. Claire wants to make sure they're ready. Besides, she's anxious to meet one of Wesker's cronies face to face. She's packing more heat than even she feels is necessary. It makes her feel safe. She doesn't know who he'll send. She wants to make sure she's prepared.

Claire knows the city is headed for a snow storm. She heard something about it early in the morning, but now that she's outside she can actually feel it coming. It's an ominous sort of calm, hence the expression. She looks around her. The junk yard is lit up by three giant floodlights; even so, there are still shadows. Claire holds on to the gun in her pocket and chuckles at another fond expression. There's no one around to tell. She wishes Leon was there. He'd get it for sure.

The cats in the backseat start to meow, and Claire can hear the sound of footsteps approaching. She turns around and sees a thin figure standing fifty yards away. The person stops and watches her. "Who's there?" Claire calls. The liaison doesn't move. "Come on out."

"Are you armed?" a woman's voice answers.

"Yes, and I'm sure you are too. Let's get this over with."

"Throw your weapon down."

"No way," Claire says firmly.

"Throw it down or I'm outta here."

Claire doesn't take her eyes off the figure. She decides to play along because she knows the snow is going to start falling soon. She takes the gun out of her pocket and tosses it away, knowing there's a second, third, and fourth one at her disposal should the need arise. The figure steps out of the shadows.

It's Ada Wong.

They look at each other. Claire's brow furrows. She turns, so that she can face Ada full on. "I assume you've got the final disk," she says.

"That's right," Ada answers.

"Bring it over."

"I'll leave it on the ground here. You can pick it up when I'm gone."

"Afraid to face me?" Claire asks.

Ada laughs.

"Not in the least."

"Then bring it over."

Ada shrugs and starts to approach.

Claire watches the way Ada saunters over, as if she's completely confident. Either she doesn't assume Claire still has weapons on her, or she doesn't care. She walks slowly, as if she's stalking something. She's wearing tight black clothes. Claire knows Leon's been seeing Ada. She knows they've spent nights together. The more she thinks about it, the more she distrusts him.

The more she thinks about the other guns she's got with her.

"I didn't think you'd come," Ada says.

"Why not?"

"You're the Captain."

"And?"

"Not many Captains would risk their own lives."

"I see Wesker's influence is rubbing off on you," Claire says.

Ada smiles.

"Touché."

"You're all on orders not to harm us. We've got something you want."

"No offence, Captain Redfield, but you have no idea what I want."

"I'm pretty sure I do."

Ada stops about ten feet away.

"Yes… now that I think about it… maybe you do."

Ada can see aspects of Leon in Claire's mannerisms; the stilted speech, the dry sense of humour, even the inflections. She doesn't know who rubbed off on whom. It's endearing. She looks the Captain up and down, checking out her clothes, her shoes, her hair.

If she didn't know better, she could have sworn they were brother and sister.

Ada pulls the disk out and hands it to Claire. Claire takes it without a moment's hesitation and puts it in her coat pocket, then turns to leave. She doesn't want to stay, doesn't want to exchange words. Ada, however, decides to seize the moment. "For what it's worth," she says, "I never meant to hurt him."

"Yeah, well, you did," Claire mutters.

"Sorry, but I don't think it's up to you to decide that." She's angry, but trying to stay cool.

Claire stops and faces her.

"Oh yeah?" she asks, her anger rising. "Listen to me, Ada. You may be spending time with him every once in a while, but I see him every day. I see what your memory has done to him."

"I had a job to do," Ada says. "And I did it. He got too close."

"You let him get too close."

"Like you wouldn't."

"I'll tell you what I wouldn't do," Claire says. "I wouldn't lie to him. I wouldn't lead him on."

"Not even if it meant you'd get him in the end?"

Claire looks away. She doesn't want to admit she's thinking about it.

"Why don't you leave him alone?"

"Excuse me?" Ada asks, exasperated.

"Don't play stupid," Claire says. "Everyone knows you've got your own agenda. If you're not working for Wesker you're working for some other son of a bitch. It doesn't matter. Either way you'll sell him out."

"Maybe you should lock him up, then," Ada says. "I'm sure he'd appreciate that."

"Leon can make his own decisions. I wish he'd tell you to fuck off and mean it. But you're too good for that."

"You think it's all an act?"

"That's all it's ever been, Ada. A big fucking act."

"You're wrong," she says, shaking her head. Despite her best efforts, Claire can hear the hurt in her voice.

Claire looks at her. Deep down she knows there's true affection there. Leon isn't stupid; he knows who Ada is, knows the way she works. He wouldn't stick around if he knew something was wrong. Claire knows she's being unfair. She's jealous, she's afraid, and she's lashing out.

But, just like Leon, she can't keep it up forever.

"I hope I am, Ada," she says, looking away. "Because he deserves better."

"Yeah."

Claire turns and heads off into the night.

"By the way," she calls over her shoulder. "I'm still armed."

To be sure, Ada doesn't move for a very long while.


	11. Chapter 11

**Fifty-one**

"Sie sind schön…"

He couldn't believe what she had asked him. He hasn't spoken German in years. Now, not only is he speaking a language he barely understands anymore, he's speaking it terribly. Of course, she doesn't seem to mind. His pronunciation is what counts to her, and it's as sharp as ever. He wonders what she's thinking as he cups her breast, gently caressing her nipple so he can hear her sigh softly. Maybe she's lost in the fantasy of a stranger coming back to her hotel room and taking advantage of her. Even when she calls the shots, she gives him complete control. It drives him crazy.

Rebecca starts to giggle. She's lying on her side beneath the hotel's pristine bed sheets, covering her face with her hands. He's behind her; his arm is around her, holding her against him. He's whispering in her ear. She can tell he's smiling. She tries to untangle herself from his embrace, playfully nudges him away, but he doesn't let go. "Sie sind süß und naß…"

"Huh?"

He chuckles, and his hand roams down the front of her body to nestle between her legs. He ignores her request for clarification.

She turns halfway around and looks up at him. His glasses are off, his eyes open, but he's gazing so far down on her body that she can't see them. She can only see his eyelashes move when he blinks. She reaches up and touches his face. He takes a deep breath. "Rebecca..."

"Captain…"

"Ich würde alles für Sie tun... "

The city is in the grip of another snow storm. The flakes are small and sting when they hit the cheeks of the pedestrians below. They can hear the wind whistling outside their room. Rebecca doesn't know what hotel they're at; he wouldn't tell her. But it's classy all the way. The bed sheets are made of thick white linen, and even though she enjoys the fact that he's pulled them away from her to expose her body to him, she loves the feel of them. The light from the fire is casting an orange glow on their skin. If one were to look at them from above, one would see her small, lithe body curled in his arms, and his hand between her legs, conjuring, cajoling another desperate cry of his name.

In a word, it's romantic.

She didn't think he was capable of romance.

She bites her bottom lip as one of his fingers finds its way inside her. She moans when another joins the first and starts to stroke. His smile widens when he feels the extent of her pleasure. She recognizes the familiar sound he makes when he knows she's enjoying herself. His lips press against her ear, and he speaks forcefully. "Du magst das, nicht wahr?"

The worse his language skills, the more he wishes to please her. He can't help but think she knows deep down that he can hardly speak it anymore. To make up for it, he kisses her ears, her neck, her shoulders. He holds her tightly, urging her to stop paying attention. He's waiting for the moaning, the head tossing, the tightened muscles and spasms of delight. She turns her face to him, her eyes closed, and slowly exhales through full, parted lips. "Liebes herz…" he murmurs.

In the last few weeks, he's had her in many ways. Her willingness fascinates him. She understands her own body, takes pleasure in it, yet she never loses her air of innocence. It's when he's fulfilling her requests that he marvels at it the most; she hasn't been completely shy. He wonders how it can be, how she can remain so open. Part of him wants to spoil her, to corrupt her, to bring her to the very edge, simply because she's available to him and vulnerable. Part of him wants to continue bowing to her every whim.

He knows what to do. At this point, it's all a matter of timing.

"Albert..?"

"Mmmm?"

"Thank you."

He smiles, but doesn't say anything. "I love this…" she says softly. She lays her hand on his cheek, and her brow furrows as he finds another sensual spot. "That feels… so good… Don't stop." She puts her hand on his, shifts it slightly. "There… right there…" She shifts it again, feels that his fingers are wet with her. "Higher…" She bites her lip. "Yeah…" Her hand retreats and rests on the pillows above her head. "Yeah…"

"Mm-hmm?"

She nods, her eyes squeezed shut in bridled ecstasy.

He blows lightly in her ear and waits for his chance. He doesn't want to frighten her. If he does it now he could scare her; the last thing he wants to do is cause her an upset. But when the moment is right, he'll have her where he wants her; moaning brazenly, writhing beneath his touch, and begging for more. If she has a penchant for hearing him speak in his mother tongue, he has a weakness for her swearing. He's pretended to be offended, but nothing turns him on more than her sweet, youthful voice demanding things be done to her; especially with a bluish tinge.

Just as the thought occurs to him, Rebecca arches her back and sighs, "Fuck me… please…"

He withdraws his hand from between her legs and eases her back against the pillows. She opens her eyes and watches him straddle and lower himself over her willing, naked body. She watches him intently, waiting for him to select a position that suits him, but he remains perfectly still. She realizes he has something planned for her by the way he leans into her, slowly, and with purpose. He opens his eyes and locks her in his sight. At once, she's helpless. "Becca…"

"Mmmm?"

He smiles devilishly.

"Hold on."

She hears the sound before she can fully understand what's happening. Suddenly he's a blur, a flash before her startled eyes. Then come the sensations; millions of them, all at once, and everywhere. His hands, his lips, his tongue, his arms, all please her flesh at the same time. He's fondling her breasts, fucking her from behind, kissing her neck and stroking her hair, nibbling her knees, her shoulders. She can feel him penetrate her, pin her down, lift her up, turn her over, can feel herself come again and again and again, yet all she can comprehend is the firelight beyond the foot of the bed. She can taste him, smell him, hear him grunting and panting, behind her, beside her, above her, without reprieve. Her body quakes; it takes over her mind, and she's powerless to resist it. She wants to cry out but can't decide on a word; 'stop', 'fuck', 'harder', 'please', 'more', 'no', 'mine', 'yes'.

She's about to scream his name when he stops, his sex thrust deep, his eyes closed, his mouth open, and comes desperately inside her with a lingering, arrant groan.

It's exquisite, watching him come. She listens to the timbre of his voice, hears how it's filled with gratitude and longing. She watches as the sensations tear through his body, igniting his skin, causing him to shudder. Every muscle is tense, bracing him against the shockwave. She doesn't know how much he's missed fucking women, how long he's lusted for her in particular, or all the filthy little things he's thought about doing to her. She relinquishes her body to a final, agonizing orgasm.

The room is filled with the sounds of them catching their breath. He brushes her bangs off her sweaty forehead, caresses her face with the back of his hand. She whimpers as she's brought to completion. He bends down, swallowing hard, still panting, and their foreheads touch. "Liebes herz…"

She shakes her head, can't speak. "Ich liebe dich…"

"Huh?"

He swallows again.

"Never mind. I don't think I said it right."

They laugh lightly, exhausted.

 **Fifty-two**

 _Of all the areas in the Arklay Facility, the student lounge was the only one that seemed to have been built with the students in mind. There was a bar that was licensed to serve alcohol, a pool and chess tables, a dart board, even a juke box that played the popular albums of the day. The walls were decorated with movie posters, and the pot lights were always dimmed. That Friday night, a group of students had assembled in the lounge to drink and play pool. Andrew Cumberland was among them. He was never any good at the game, but he wasn't there to win. He was there to have a drink, have a good time._

 _He wanted to forget everything he had heard the night before._

 _Two other students, William and Albert, were sitting by themselves in a corner, talking quietly. They each had drinks; scotch on the rocks for William, southern comfort for Albert. Occasionally, when one of the students let out a triumphant cry at a particularly good shot, William would look up sharply, irritated by the noise. If had he known the lounge would be that busy he wouldn't have bothered. Albert didn't seem to mind as much. He was used to tuning that kind of noise out._

 _"So you're adopted?"_

 _"No, I'm not adopted. I'm a ward of the state. That's when nobody adopts you."_

 _"You don't have any family here at all?"_

 _"Nope."_

 _"They're all in Germany?"_

 _"I guess so."_

 _"I'd like to visit Germany one day."_

 _"Think you'd like it. It's really nice. Depending on where you go, it's a lot nicer than here."_

 _Albert turned his head and watched the students play pool for a moment, all the while sifting through what few memories of his homeland he had left._

 _He didn't know why William was taking such an interest. Lately the time they spent together was filled with William asking questions about Albert's life; mostly about his years as a ward. Albert didn't know how to take the consideration. He couldn't tell if it was genuine concern or simply a way of gathering information. Just to be sure, Albert never gave too much away. Most things were better left in the past. Still, he liked the attention._

 _"Why did you want to be a scientist, Wes?" William asked._

 _Albert took a sip of his drink and shrugged._

 _"Well, I was always sorta smart when it came to that kinda thing. I didn't choose it, really. They just reckoned this was the best place for me to be."_

 _William smirked._

 _"They reckoned that, huh?"_

 _Albert gave him a small smile. He knew what William was about to say. "You should really work on that accent, Wes."_

 _"Why's that?"_

 _"Well, either you're a Southerner or a scientist."_

 _"That so?"_

 _"You know what those morons were laughing at in class today. You know what they call you behind your back? 'Farm Boy'."_

 _"I didn't think it made that much of a difference."_

 _"Of course it doesn't. But you and I are the only ones here who are smart enough to understand that. Bunch of idiots. Sometimes I think this whole thing is a waste of my time." He finished off his drink. "They have a point though. No one's going to take you seriously if you sound like you're right off a horse's back. Maybe you should work on it."_

 _"I got better things to do than hide it, thank you," Albert said._

 _"Just a suggestion," William replied. The boys playing pool cheered as the last shot was made._

 _"Why'd you wanna be a scientist?" Albert asked._

 _"I'm fascinated with it. For as far back as I can remember I've always wanted this. Always." He swirled the ice cubes around in his glass. "It certainly made my parents proud, when I told them. Even more proud when I was accepted to study here on scholarship. They would never have been able to afford this. Their only son turned out rather well, I think. Considering what the other kids on the street are up to at my age." He looked at Albert. "Your parents would have been proud too, I think."_

 _Albert smiled, but tried not to acknowledge the comment._

 _"Where'd you grow up?"_

 _"New England for the most part. There's a fine accent for you! You should aim for that!"_

 _Albert shook his head and looked away. He was blushing. William noticed it was a habit of his. Whenever Albert was the subject of the conversation, his face would turn pink. It made him look even younger._

 _The students finished their game and ordered a round of drinks. They drank steadily, knowing they didn't have to get up early the next day. William and Albert tried to carry on their conversation as best they could, but the noise was increasing with every drop poured. Just when they were about to leave, one of the students suggested an arm-wrestling contest. At first it was a friendly competition, with one student trying to psyche another student out in order to win. Soon they were slamming crumpled dollar bills down on the table and placing bets, and the entire thing turned into a match for money. Since they could no longer converse, William and Albert watched the action for a while. Albert was about to suggest they turn in when William looked at him. "You could beat any one of them, easily."_

 _Albert laughed._

 _"No I can't."_

 _"Are you kidding? I've seen you. You're stronger than all of them put together."_

 _Albert watched as another student lost a day's pay. It didn't deter the others in the slightest; another round of bets was placed. "Go for it."_

 _"No."_

 _"Come on!"_

 _"No way, Will," he said, still blushing._

 _William's left leg started to bounce restlessly._

 _Andrew Cumberland was watching too, when he noticed Birkin eyeing the action with keen interest. There was something about the look on Birkin's face that didn't sit well with him. There was an edge there. He watched as the usually calm and arrogant young scientist fiddled with the glass tumbler in his hand. It seemed as though he wanted to get in on the event. Andrew pushed the thought out of his head. There was no way Birkin would want to be a part of things. He isolated himself from everyone; it was rare that he would even be seen in another student's company, let alone in the lounge. The same went for Albert Wesker, once he and Birkin formed a friendship. Perhaps he was reading into it too much, and Birkin was just excited._

 _The thought quickly faded when Birkin blurted out, "Wes is next. Wes can take any one of you guys."_

 _Albert looked at him quickly when he heard the words. One of the students, a large young man who had remained unbeaten the entire evening, laughed heartily. "What're you? His trainer?"_

 _"Double or nothing he mops the floor with you," William smirked. Albert shook his head._

 _"No way, Will."_

 _"Come on, Wes, you're gonna win!"_

 _"Forget it."_

 _"Double or nothing?" the student asked. He looked at Albert, who was blushing so brightly not even the dimmed lighting could camouflage it. "Yeah, I can take him."_

 _"I'm not gonna arm-wrestle, Will, forget it."_

 _"You're not a very good trainer, Birkin. Your protégé is chickening out."_

 _William leaned over._

 _"Come on, Wes, there's no way he'll beat you. How much is double or nothing?"_

 _"Three hundred bucks," Andrew called out._

 _"We're in." He spoke to Albert again in a low voice. "That's three hundred bucks, Wes. We could have a way better time someplace else for that kind of money."_

 _Albert ran a nervous hand through his hair. The other students started cheering him on. Finally, he sighed._

 _"Alright, alright."_

 _Andrew watched as Albert stood up and walked over to the table in the middle of the room. He tried not to smile as the money exchanged hands. Someone put their hands on his shoulders and gave him a quick massage, then patted him on the arm._

 _For once, he felt like a regular student._

 _The other young man sat across from him. They shook hands as the final bets were placed on a nearby table. William stood a distance away, ardently surveying the events. Then they clasped hands, braced each other's elbows, and readied themselves while the other students counted to three. On 'three', the competition began._

 _There was laughter and cheering as it became apparent the young man was in for a tougher battle than he expected. Albert was very strong, shockingly so, and the student grimaced as he literally tried to get the upper hand. Albert hardly broke a sweat; apart from the small grin on his face he didn't appear to be straining at all. "Holy shit!" the young man laughed breathlessly as he continued to puff and strain. The others couldn't believe it either. They didn't realize anyone who hung out with William Birkin would be much of a jock. Some of them even took his side, cheered him on since he was the underdog._

 _The cheering came to an end when the student's radius snapped, the bone protruding from his forearm._

 _The young man let out a tremendous scream. Shocked, Albert let go and immediately saw what he had done. "Oh shit! Oh shit!"_

 _"Holy shit, Wesker, you broke his fucking arm!" someone yelled._

 _"Fuck! Get him down to the clinic!"_

 _William stepped up behind him._

 _"For god's sake, Wes, take him down to the clinic. He'll be fine," he said coolly._

 _The student was too alarmed to put up a fuss; he simply sat in the chair, staring at the broken bone. Everything else was a blur. The rest of the guys backed off as Albert put his arm around the young man and helped him to his feet._

 _"I'm taking you to the clinic, alright?" he said as authoritatively as he could. "Hold on."_

 _They watched as he led the injured man out of the lounge, then followed them, eager to see how their friend would hold up._

 _Andrew remained behind._

 _For a minute no one said anything. Then William strolled over to the table where the money had been placed and scooped it up. He flipped the bills quickly and made sure it was all there before slipping the cash into his wallet. Andrew stared at him. "He broke the guy's arm, Birkin."_

 _"A bet's a bet."_

 _"For fuck's sake!"_

 _William turned his head, locking Andrew in his sights. His glare was enough to turn anyone to stone._

 _"I told you he'd win."_

 _He put the wallet back into his pocket with a smirk._

 **Fifty-three**

Cumberland is in the alley behind the Facility. He's leaning against the brick wall and having another cigarette. It's his third in a row. His nerves are shot. The last few hours have been trying; he needed to get away for a while, to try and think of other things. Whenever he takes a drag, his hands shake. He'd like to think it's the weather that's causing him to shiver, but he knows better.

There are several green garbage bins in the alley. They're all packed to capacity, and one has several tied-off plastic bags peaking out. The skyline is obscured from Cumberland's view, not that he would be able to see much; the city's bright lights have drowned out the delicate twinkling of the stars. He leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes, breathes in the cold air mixed with car exhaust fumes. He thinks of his family's estate in the country. If he were there now, he'd be able to see the stars. He'd be able to forget everything that's happened.

The back door of the Facility opens. Claire pokes her head out and looks around, then catches sight of him. She steps into the alley and uses a brick to prop the door open. Cumberland smiles at her as best he can. Claire offers him a quick wave in greeting. "Didn't they teach you the dangers of smoking in medical school?"

"Yes, of course." He takes another drag. "It's very dangerous to smoke in medical school."

Claire chuckles.

"Is she alright?"

He releases the smoke.

"She's fine. She's exhausted, that's all."

"So he took care of her."

"As best he could, I suppose."

"What kind of tests did you do?"

"The usual. Checked to see if she was dehydrated or malnourished or injured in any way."

"She wasn't injured?"

"Not in the least."

"So dehydration, injury…"

"Standard stuff."

"… pregnancy?"

He looks at her, his eyes wide.

"What for?"

Claire doesn't want to explain herself. She looks down at her boots. "You're not serious?" he says, decoding her gaze.

"Yeah I am."

He looks away.

"No... not that test."

Cumberland butts out his cigarette and turns to face her. "I finished examining Wesker a little while ago," he says.

"How'd he take it?"

"He wasn't too happy about it, let me tell you. But he kept quiet. I don't think anyone has been that close to him in a while. Well, except…"

Claire looks at the wet asphalt again. She doesn't want to be reminded. "I can't believe what great shape he's in. He's hardly aged since the last time I saw him. Now I think I know why. In fact, I'm pretty sure I know why." He waits until Claire looks at him. "He's technically dead."

Her face goes pale.

"Fuck."

"He has no heartbeat, no pulse, no bodily functions or fluids, nothing that indicates life. That's why he's so strong. The virus lives for him. Now, he's able to think for himself for the most part, but his body, even his brain, can be affected by other things."

"What do you mean?"

Cumberland reaches for another cigarette. Claire isn't too quick to chastise him this time.

"Two people came in during the examination. First it was Rebecca."

Claire makes a mental note to speak to Rebecca again. "At first she just stood next to the door and watched. Then she offered to help me. So I said sure, she could assist me if she wanted. The minute she got within ten feet of him, his heart started beating."

"How do you know?"

"He was hooked up to the monitor. It wasn't beating until she got close to him. Then it's like he came back to life."

Cumberland taps his cigarette a couple of times before lighting it. Claire occupies herself with her zipper.

"What do you think that means?" she asks.

"I'm not sure exactly. But after what you just told me, I think I have an idea." He takes a long drag off the cigarette, then continues. "When I was still with Umbrella I did some research into the reproductive nature of the virus. I was in the middle of working on it when I knew I had to escape, so it's still just a theory. But I think he's…" He looks away. "Shit…"

"Go on."

"I think he's trying to breed," he says. "Or… it's trying to breed… with a human host… shit..." He closes his eyes, suddenly feels nauseous.

Claire's heart starts to race.

"Who else came in? You said there were two people."

"Your brother."

"What happened?"

"His heart started beating again."

"Fuck…"

"No, no, it was different. When your brother came in Wesker's heart rate was almost off the charts. And he was getting uncomfortable, like he was enraged but trying to control himself. Chris was only in the room for a minute, but Wesker's heart rate was equivalent to someone panicking, someone in a state of fury."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying Wesker more than hates your brother. He physically can't stand him."

Claire can't stand still any longer. She yanks the back door of the Facility open, then turns to speak to Cumberland. "Don't mention this to the others, whatever you do," she says.

"Of course."

"And under no circumstances is Rebecca to be left alone with Wesker." She's about to go back inside when she catches the brief look of panic in his eyes. "You performed the examination in the cell?"

"Yes."

"What happened when you finished?"

His face goes white.

"Rebecca said she'd stay behind to clean up…"

For a moment, Claire's heart stops.

"Oh my God…" She turns on her heel, breaks into a run, and heads for the holding cells.

 **Fifty-four**

Everyone is staring at Rebecca.

They can't believe what she's just said, just admitted to. At first they think she's lost it, that she doesn't know what she's saying, or that maybe she's just being facetious. But she's just standing there, not moving, not looking away, and not denying a thing. Their jaws are all dropped, their cheeks flushed; they're all holding their breath.

All of them except Chris.

He hasn't gotten up off the floor yet. His gaze is narrow. He's debating whether or not to speak his mind. Rebecca is looking right at him, waiting for it. He knows if he speaks up he can pretty much kiss their friendship goodbye.

But he figures she's already finished with it, considering what she's done.

He laughs bitterly and shakes his head. "You're a fucking piece of work, aren't you?"

"Yeah," she says. "And you'd know, huh?"

"You're damn right I know."

"Chris, stop it," Claire warns him.

"Only you, huh?" he continues, ignoring his sister. "Only you would be stupid enough to fuck Wesker."

"Hey!" Leon says sharply. "Shut up!"

"Only you'd be stupid enough to believe his bullshit."

"Fuck you!" Rebecca snaps.

"Did he tell you he's just misunderstood? Huh? Is that all it takes with you?"

"You tell me, Chris," she says.

"Apparently not much."

He stands up, but doesn't take his eyes off her.

Jill is finding it difficult to breathe. She catches herself holding her breath and has to make a conscious effort to exhale. Every word Chris says rips through her, even though he's not directing his anger at her. Of course she's upset too, but she still wishes he wouldn't do this, now or ever. She watches as he braces himself against the wall, watches him glare at Rebecca, watches as he ignores everyone who tries to get him to stop. She wishes he could try to understand, but knows how hurt and angry he must be.

There's something in his voice, however, that tells her there's more to this than meets the eye.

"You have no fucking idea what we've gone through for your sake," Chris says to Rebecca. "No fucking clue."

"I have an idea, don't treat me like an ingrate!" she replies. Her throat is tightening.

"The hell you do! We've been risking our lives to get you back and you've been who-knows-where fucking the guy for weeks!"

"Shut up, Chris," Leon cautions him as he takes a step forward.

"What the fuck goes through your head, Rebecca? I wanna know."

Rebecca can't speak. If she does, she'll start to cry. "Do you think about the people he's killed at all? Do you remember Forest?"

"Shut up now Chris," Leon says.

"Remember Joseph? Enrico?"

Leon keeps coming towards him.

"Chris, please," Claire says.

"Remember Steve?" he says, more for Claire's benefit than Rebecca's.

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone…" she says quietly, hoarsely.

"No, of course not, you just didn't fuckin' think, did you? Huh? Not once!"

Leon stands between them as Claire puts her arm around Rebecca. The caring touch is enough to release a flood of tears. Rebecca starts to sob.

"Shut up," Leon says to Chris.

"And you don't find anything wrong with that, do you?" Chris says, turning his attention to Leon.

"Shut up," he repeats, his face turning red.

"So I'm alone in thinking this is fuckin' disgusting?"

"Shut up!"

"Am I the only one who finds anything wrong with this?" He looks at Claire. He looks at Jill. They don't answer him.

"Shut up Chris," Leon says again.

"This is fuckin' bullshit!"

"Shut up."

"I can't fuckin' believe you guys!"

"Shut up."

Chris points at her over Leon's shoulder.

"We put our lives on the line for her and she fucks the guy!"

Leon shoves him back.

"Shut up, Chris!"

Chris looks at all of them, then laughs contemptuously. He can't believe they're in this situation now, after everything that's happened.

And they have no idea how betrayed he feels.

"Thanks a lot," he says, to all of them. "Thanks a whole fucking lot."

Leon glares at him for a moment.

"Claire, can you take Rebecca upstairs and clean her up?" he asks.

Claire is about to lead Rebecca out of the room when Chris calls out.

"Yeah, wash her up, Claire. She's real fucking dirty."

Rebecca lunges at him, her face red and streaked with tears. Claire has to hold her back.

"You have no right!" she screams. "You have no right, Chris!"

"I would never do this to a friend!" he snarls as Leon holds his arm out. "I know what side I'm on!"

Claire holds on to Rebecca.

"Come on, honey," she says as gently as she can. "Let's go upstairs."

"Fuck you!" Rebecca hurls at Chris.

"Let's go upstairs. Come on…"

Rebecca puts her hands over her mouth and bends over, as if she's been punched in the stomach. Claire crouches down to see if she's alright. Rebecca's sobs sound hollow from behind her sweaty palms. "Come on." She puts her arm around the medic and succeeds in ushering her out of the room. Rebecca is weeping so hard, she can barely walk.

When they've left, Leon turns to Chris.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"With me?"

"That's your friend, Chris. You talk to a friend that way?"

"Anyone who fucks Wesker's no friend of mine."

"You don't talk to anyone like that again, you understand?"

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I don't want to hear any of that shit come from you again. You leave her alone."

"Figures."

"Chris…" Jill says.

"What figures?" Leon says, daring him to continue.

"Figures you'd have no problem with it."

"Chris, please…"

"The fuck does that mean?"

"It means a guy like you has no problem with someone sleeping with the enemy. It means any guy who's fucking Ada Wong shouldn't be too quick to judge."

Leon pulls his fist back and slams Chris in the face.

Chris throws himself at Leon, and the two men begin fighting. "Stop it!" Jill screams, but they're too infuriated to listen. Leon blackens one of Chris' eyes before Chris punches him in the face, splitting Leon's lip. Jill runs forward and wedges herself between them, eventually forcing them apart. Their breathing is heavy, their faces bashed and bruised, and they glare at each other so savagely that Jill is petrified.

"You fucker!" Chris growls.

"Fuck you!"

"Chris, PLEASE!" Jill says angrily.

The men back off. Leon turns around and heads for the door. Just before he leaves the room, he bashes his fist against the wall beneath the light switch, smashing through the cheap plaster and drywall.

When he's gone, Chris looks down at Jill. She's staring at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend why he's become so angry, so belligerent. Chris can't look her in the eye. He turns away and catches his breath. "Why can't you try to understand?" she says softly.

"I don't know," he replies. He looks at her again. His eyes are red and welling up with tears. "I'm sorry, Jilly…"

She puts her arms around him. He doesn't say anything else. He knows that if he speaks, he'll start to cry.

It's all too familiar.

 **Fifty-five**

Rebecca is lying on top of him, listening to his breathing through his chest. He's stroking the back of her neck with his fingertips. They're listening to an album of his. It's The Velvet Underground. The song is slow and sweet. It's sung by a woman. Rebecca has never heard it before, but she likes it. The music crackles and pops as the CD spins, the characteristics of a recording straight from vinyl. She closes her eyes. "Albert?"

"Yes?"

"Is this your favourite band?"

"I'd say so."

"What's your favourite movie?"

"Movie? Hrmmm…" He pauses, considers it. "I've never thought of that before. 'The Hustler', if I had to pick."

Rebecca smiles. She likes where the conversation is going.

It's a quiet afternoon on a Sunday. The sun is streaming through the windows and warming up the penthouse. She's happy he hasn't drawn the blinds. It sounds as if the world outside the windows has stopped. There aren't the usual shouts and car horns. If she tries hard enough, she can forget why she's really here and picture a more ordinary life.

"What's your favourite colour?" she asks.

"Black." He looks down at her. "Can't you tell?"

"I guess, huh?"

He smiles. "Favourite time of year?"

"Winter."

"Favourite snack?"

"Favourite snack…" he repeats, shifting his position, stretching his legs. "My, my, you're inquisitive today."

"Aren't I always?"

"Indeed you are. Favourite snack…" he says broadly, teasing her. "When I was young, very young, they used to make spaetzle and onions for us on Sundays. That was my favourite for a long time."

"What's that?"

"German dumplings. You boil them first and you can put them in soups or fry them. Sundays they'd fry them with caramelized onions and give them to us for lunch. I loved it. Didn't tell anyone I did, though. I was afraid they'd stop serving it. It was the only meal I looked forward to."

"Well, today's Sunday. Maybe you can get whoever to make it for you."

He shakes his head.

"No, that's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because I don't eat anymore."

Rebecca looks up.

"You don't eat?"

He shakes his head. "Why not?"

"Because I don't have to."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"No. I haven't been hungry in ten years."

"Wow… no wonder I never see you eat," she says. "And you don't get tired."

"No."

"You don't sleep."

"No. Not for a long time now."

"Wow…"

"I know," he says. "Bummer, huh?"

He looks at her. They start laughing.

Rebecca keeps her eyes on him as his laughter dies away. He sounds different for some reason. Then it suddenly occurs to her. His voice, his laughter, sounds as if he's genuinely happy, as if he's actually amused by their conversation. He sounds, for lack of a better term, kind.

"Albert?"

"Yes?"

"What's with… the laugh?"

"The laugh?"

"Yeah."

At first he's confused. Then he understands.

"Oh… you mean…" he starts chortling. "Gwa-hahahahaha!"

She puts her hands over his mouth.

"Stop it! Ugh!"

He stops and she removes her hands. "Yeah, that."

He sighs, his smile remaining.

"Well," he says. "I learned a long time ago that if you really want to get under someone's skin, laugh at them." He looks at her. "The louder, the better."

"That's a shitty thing to learn."

"But it's true," he says, holding her close. "It works."

They're quiet for a moment.

"Do you remember when we were still in S.T.A.R.S.?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Do you remember when I passed my final test and you came to congratulate me?"

He starts twirling her hair with his fingers.

"Yes."

"You hugged me."

"Mm-hmmm."

"No one could believe it when I told them."

"I suppose they wouldn't."

"I felt special." She sighs. "It never happened again, though."

"I apologize. I had other things to think about."

She listens to his heartbeat.

The CD changes. Ziggy Stardust starts to play over the speakers. He chuckles, but doesn't say why. Rebecca smiles.

"I like this song. But it reminds me of my first kiss," she says.

"Really?" He's intrigued.

"Yeah. I was eleven. It was at my friend's birthday party. Her dad picked the music, so this is what we had to listen to. We were playing Seven Minutes in the Closet, and this boy kissed me, and he tasted like dill pickle chips, and it was so gross."

"Charming," he says with a grin.

"How old were you when you had your first kiss?"

"I was pretty old," he warns before giving his answer.

"How old?"

"Nineteen."

"Wow," she says. "What was her name?"

"His name."

She stops.

"His?"

He nods.

"Does that bother you?"

She shakes her head.

"No, no, it doesn't bother me." She looks up at him. "What was his name?"

"William."

She blinks.

"William Birkin?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

They're quiet.

"I didn't get out much," he says, trying to make light of it. She laughs uncomfortably.

"I didn't think… was he..?"

"Gay?"

"Yeah."

He shakes his head.

"No. He was a bit of a womanizer, actually. When he wasn't working, he was talking about girls. Funny thing this is playing too," he says, referencing the music. "He loved David Bowie. He introduced me to it. I suppose it could be seen as pauncey, but then he was the one who got married."

"He kissed you?"

"Mm-hmmm."

"Why?"

"To see what it was like, I think." He looks at her. "He was a scientist, after all."

"Don't say that," she says sadly.

Her curiosity begins to grow. "What was it like?"

"It was nice," he admits.

"He was a good kisser?"

"He was a pretty good kisser, yeah," he says, nodding and smiling at the absurdity of it all.

"Who's a better kisser, me or him?" He laughs.

"By far, you."

"Good."

He scratches the top of her head. "Albert?"

"Yes?"

"Did you love him?"

He takes a deep breath.

"A little," he says softly. There's a pause. "But I hated him more. He was like a brother that way."

"Do you ever miss him?"

He nods.

"Sometimes." He turns his head. "Sometimes I think of what happened to him. I think of how frightened he must have been… in those final moments… he must have been terrified…"

They don't speak for a while. "You're quiet now," he points out.

"Yeah."

"No more questions?"

She shakes her head. "Trying to make sense of it all?"

"Yeah," she says.

He strokes her cheek with his knuckles. "I didn't think I'd ever be here… listening to you…"

"Neither did I," he says.

"Things could have been different."

"You're right."

"Isn't it funny?"

"Mm-hmmm."

"What would you have done, if it was someone else that night?"

He pauses.

"I don't know," he says. "But I don't want to think about it."

"Okay."

They lay there together, quietly, for the rest of the afternoon.


	12. Chapter 12

**Fifty-six**

Rebecca hates the holding cells. They're made of thick bullet-proof Plexiglas. There's a single cot in one corner, without sheets. It's upholstered with the same ugly material as the couches in the employee lounge. The light is coming from four naked bulbs caged in thick wire. The rest of the room is dark. She can't help but think of The Silence of the Lambs. The door to the cell is closed. She's locked herself in.

"What's gonna happen to you?" she asks.

"Nothing," he replies, nibbling her earlobe.

"Are they gonna kill you?"

"They can't kill me, dear heart."

"Thank you for coming back."

He chuckles.

"You're welcome."

They've taken his clothes away. He's wearing loose fitting black pants, almost like track pants, and soft-soled running shoes. The shirt they've given him to wear is baggy, greyish-blue with long sleeves. Rebecca opens her eyes when she feels him kiss her neck. The collar of the shirt hangs open; she can see his chest. He moves over her, determined to pay as much attention to the left side of her neck as he did the right.

"Albert?"

"Yes?"

"Don't stop."

"I won't."

He takes one of her hands, kisses it, pins it over her head.

Then Chris Redfield enters the cell block.

The moment he sees Wesker looming over Rebecca's body he reaches for his gun. "Get the fuck off her now!" he yells. Their heads turn sharply and look at him. Wesker grins, then slides off her and stands up.

"I was wondering when you'd get curious," he sneers.

"Let her go!"

Wesker looks at Rebecca. He doesn't expect her to explain the situation to Chris.

"You're free to go if you like, Miss Chambers."

Rebecca doesn't move.

"Don't worry, Rebecca, I've got you covered," Chris says steadily, keeping his eye on his enemy.

Rebecca looks at him.

"It's not what you think, Chris."

Claire arrives with Cumberland.

"What is it, then?" Chris asks.

Claire heads for the cell with a set of keys. She unlocks the door and motions for Rebecca to come out of the cell. Wesker doesn't move.

"Come on, Rebecca," she says.

Rebecca doesn't want to leave without kissing him goodbye, but it's not possible. She hesitates, then joins the rest of them on the other side. Claire locks the door again. "Go up to Cumberland's office and wait for me," she says.

Rebecca steals one last look, then leaves.

Chris glares at Wesker.

"You're fucking sick!" he says.

"Am I?"

"If I find out you tried anything with her…"

"Tried anything? What do you mean?" he asks coyly.

"We know what you're up to," Cumberland says.

Wesker looks at him.

"I'd love to hear your interpretation, Drew."

"You're trying to breed with a human host."

"Is that what you call it?" He laughs. "No wonder you're divorced."

"You leave Rebecca alone," Claire says.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Captain Redfield," he replies. "Rebecca's mine now."

Chris' grip tightens around the handle of his gun.

"What are you talking about?"

"I've grown rather fond of her. I won't give her up without a fight."

"I'll give you a fucking fight!"

Claire is getting antsy.

"Shut up, both of you," she warns.

"It won't work, Wesker," Cumberland says. "There's no way the virus would pass into a child. The result would be stillborn."

"I assure you I have no idea what you're talking about," he says. "And you're starting to annoy me."

"You fucking psycho!" Chris yells.

"You know," Cumberland says as evenly as he can, "I was never afraid of you back then. No one was. It was Birkin we were afraid of."

"You only wish you were as brilliant as he was."

"Yes, he was brilliant," he admits. "But he didn't survive, did he?"

"You only survived because your wealthy family bought your freedom," Wesker snarls. "The Birkins didn't have that luxury."

"Even if they did he wouldn't have left. The guy was nuts and you know it."

"Umbrella made him who he was," he says. "You, on the other hand; you were born a coward."

"If I find out you hurt Rebecca," Chris starts, "I'll…"

"You'll what?" Wesker says. "What will you do if you find out what happened?" He smiles. "Rebecca loves me, Chris. She told me herself."

"You're a fucking liar!"

"She has the softest skin of any woman I've ever met…"

"Shut up!"

"… the sweetest cunt…"

"Wesker!" Claire says in warning.

"She giggles when you fuck her up the ass, did you know that? Nervous habit, I think."

"You fucker!"

"But when she relaxes…"

Chris fires at the cell. The bullet lodges into the Plexiglas.

"Chris!" Claire yells.

Wesker starts to laugh.

"Jealous?"

Chris lowers the gun.

"You're lying," he growls.

Wesker shakes his head.

"No, I can see you're not. You're just possessive."

They glare at each other. "Rebecca's mine, Redfield," Wesker says. "Maybe if you called out her name instead..."

Chris' face turns pale. There's no denying it; Wesker is telling the truth.

He turns around and leaves, then heads for Cumberland's office.

"You leave Rebecca alone," Claire says.

"Perhaps you didn't hear my little exchange with your brother," Wesker says. "Rebecca belongs to me now."

"Your plan won't work, Wesker," Cumberland says.

"This may surprise you, Drew, but I have no plans. I mean it when I say I'm fond of her."

"You have no idea what you've done, do you?" Claire snaps. "Chris doesn't know what went on between you two. When he finds Rebecca…"

"He better stay away from her," he says in a low voice. "Or I'll kill him."

"He's going up to Cumberland's office right now."

Wesker smiles.

"Then I'll just have to stop him, won't I?" he says.

Both Claire and Cumberland hear the sound. In the blink of an eye, the cell door stands open, and Wesker is gone.

 **Fifty-seven**

Chris is on his way to the A/V room. He's not looking forward to the next hour. A feeling of dread is heavy in the pit of his stomach. He's exhausted, but it will be hours before he can finally get some rest. He hasn't shaved in days.

As he reaches the top of the stairs, he sees Rebecca leave Claire's office. She hears footsteps and looks over, and Chris comes into view. She quickly looks away, turns around, and hails the rickety elevator. It never comes in time. Chris strides over to her as quickly as he can. "Wait."

She doesn't answer him. She stares at the button she pushed to call the elevator. It's glowing red. The plastic is cracked. "Rebecca."

She pushes the button again. She knows it won't make the elevator come any faster. She's hoping the act will make him see how much she doesn't want to be there. "Rebecca?"

"Leave me alone, asshole."

"Hey…"

He steps up close to her, but she walks away. She doesn't want to wait anymore. She makes for the stairs, and he stops her by grabbing her wrist. He pulls her towards him.

"Fuck off!"

"What I said… I'm sorry for what I said."

"No you're not."

"Rebecca."

"Chris, leave me alone!"

She tries to free her wrist. His grip is tight. He won't let go. She pushes him. "Let go!"

"I'm sorry for what I said."

"I don't care if you're sorry!"

"I mean it."

"Fuck off! Go find Jill!"

"She's in the A/V room."

"Well go talk to her!"

"I didn't mean what I said."

"Oh yes you did!" Rebecca says bitterly. He stops and stares at her. "Oh yes you did! You meant every word!"

Chris looks away. He knows whatever thoughts she has right now, whether she means them or not, they have to be heard. He owes it to her. "I did you a favour that night," she says. "You were drunk and depressed and hating yourself and I was lonely… and I made it better for you… and you have the nerve to call me dirty…"

"Why'd you tell Wesker?" he asks, hurt. "Huh? Why'd you tell him?"

"What's it to you?"

"Listen to me," he says, his face stern, holding up a finger. "You're like a sister to me…"

Rebecca scoffs and rolls her eyes. "And he did something to hurt you, to use you for who knows what…"

"You and Jill are together, it shouldn't make a difference."

"You don't get it, do you? It has nothing to do with me and Jill. He's a monster, Rebecca! For fuck's sake, he's not even human…"

Rebecca could say something, but she can't ignore the past. She looks at Chris. "You haven't changed since the first day I met you, you know? You still want to heal everyone's wounds, solve everyone's problems. Not him, Rebecca, I'm telling you, you think someone like that deserves a great girl like you?"

"You think I'm stupid."

Chris doesn't answer her. He doesn't know what to say. "You think I'm stupid, don't you? Or am I just a slut?"

"I never said you were a slut."

"What does 'dirty' mean then, huh?"

"Look, I know firsthand what kind of girl you are, okay? You're sweet and all you want to do is help. And I never thanked you for that night, I showed you a terrible time and I never thanked you for the good you did, I know, and I'm sorry for that too. That's why I'm freaked out about this whole thing…"

"I'm not freaked out!"

"… because he could use it to hurt you and you're too good a person to see it any other way. He's up to no good, Rebecca! Can't you see that?"

"No, I can't."

Chris lets go of Rebecca's wrist.

"I don't understand," Chris says, shaking his head. "I don't understand what you can see in him, after all he's done to us, to you, he shot you…"

"That's right, you don't understand…"

"… all I know is the only reason you think this way, and feel this way, you wanna know why?"

"… and I don't have to explain it to you."

"You wanna know why?"

She crosses her arms. "Because you can't be with Billy Coen, that's why."

Rebecca's bottom lip starts to tremble. "If Billy was given a full pardon and didn't have to stay in hiding, you'd be with him, I know it, and you know it."

"Don't…" she whispers.

"Did you tell Wesker whose name you called out that night?"

"Don't talk to me about Billy, Chris, please..."

"Did you tell him you were missing him that night?"

Rebecca looks away, starts tapping her left foot on the linoleum. "Huh?"

"Yes…"

"And what did he say? What did he have to say to that?"

She shakes her head.

"I don't have to answer you."

"What did he say? Just tell me that."

"You won't understand."

"Hey," he says, trying to get her attention. She doesn't look at him. "My new thing is to try and understand. I promised Jilly, because Jilly's my girl. What did he say?"

Rebecca finally meets Chris' eyes.

"That he wished I was calling out his name instead."

Chris' brow furrows.

Standing in the middle of the hallway with Rebecca, Chris realizes it's over his head. He can't tell if Rebecca is hurt or in love.

In the end, he figures, it's all the same.

He puts his arms around her, and she hugs him back. "I love him, Chris," she says, and her voice is muffled by his shoulder.

"Okay."

"I do."

"I believe you."

"Don't mention Billy again… please…"

"I won't."

"I can't stay in the past…"

"I know."

"I can't keep making up happy endings in my head…"

Chris hugs her tighter.

"Are we good?"

"Huh?"

"Are you and me good again?"

She pulls away.

"I don't know…"

He nods. "I need time…"

"Alright," he says.

"Where is he?"

"He should be in the A/V room by now."

"What's this all about?" she asks.

For a minute, he doesn't answer.

"It's not good, Rebecca," he says at last. "It's not good at all."

 **Fifty-eight**

Everyone is seated in the A/V room. There aren't enough chairs to go around. Leon is leaning against the wall. Claire is balanced on one of the tables. She's trying very hard not to move, for fear of knocking it over. Chris is standing at the back of the room. Jill is next to the DVD player.

Wesker is seated on a chair in front of the monitor. Rebecca is next to him.

"It's hard to watch," Jill says.

"I've no doubt it is," he replies.

She starts playing the disk.

 _Albert Wesker is peering through a microscope on an industrial table. His partner William is holding a clip board and flipping through the pages while he paces. Every so often he looks up at Albert to see what he's doing. Albert is immersed in what he sees. "It's like playing God, don't you think?" William asks._

 _"Mmm?"_

 _"Look at how this virus reacts. It's incredible. It's like we've created life."_

 _"I guess so."_

 _"That's what I like most about my job," William says happily. "I get to come in every day and play God. And they pay me for it." He chuckles. "Not bad."_

 _"No."_

 _William stands a little way behind Albert. He waits for the conversation to continue, but it doesn't. "Do you believe in God, Wes?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Not religious then, huh?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Were you ever religious? Like, when you were a kid and had no choice?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Have you ever thought about something else being up there watching us?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"And..?"_

 _"The more I think about it, the more I'm sure it doesn't exist."_

 _"How do you justify it?"_

 _Albert sighs._

 _"The way I see it… you can put a kid in a room filled with beautiful things, and that kid can create something great, something beautiful, or you can put a kid in a room with ugly things and the kid can create something ugly. And there are a lot of ugly things in this world."_

 _"Didn't think you were so philosophical," William says._

 _"I'm not."_

 _"That's an interesting way to look at it."_

 _Albert's pass card, which opens the door to this room, is lying on the table behind him. William picks it up and slips it into his pocket._

 _"Can I ask you something, Wes?"_

 _"Yeah."_

 _"Do you talk to anyone else besides me?"_

 _"Not really."_

 _"Why not?"_

 _"I'm too busy."_

 _"Am I your only friend?"_

 _Albert looks up at him, annoyed._

 _"What kind of question is that?"_

 _"I'm just wondering."_

 _"I'm not answering that."_

 _"Okay."_

 _William strolls up behind him. Albert knows he's there but continues to make notes on what he sees in the microscope. William lays his hand on Albert's shoulder, as he always does. Albert tries not to flinch. Something isn't right, but he can't quite tell what it is. "Do you know there's another pharmaceutical company working on something like this?" William asks._

 _"No."_

 _"Yeah. I heard they're developing something very similar to it. Almost identical. I wonder how that's possible. What do you think?"_

 _He looks down at his partner, who's still gazing at the sample._

 _"I don't know."_

 _"Maybe someone's giving them information? Is that possible?"_

 _"I guess so."_

 _"I wonder…"_

 _William squeezes Albert's shoulder._

 _For the next half hour, the two work in silence. William finishes his experiment and holds it up to the light, proud. "There we go. That's it."_

 _"What is?"_

 _"The first strain of what I've been working on. It's my special project."_

 _"Congratulations."_

 _"Thanks."_

 _He looks over at Albert, who has left the microscope alone and is now making notes. "Wes?"_

 _"Yeah?"_

 _"Have you ever thought about trying this stuff?"_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"I mean trying it on yourself."_

 _"We've got test subjects for that."_

 _"Yeah, but have you ever thought about trying it on yourself?"_

 _"Not at all."_

 _"Has it ever crossed your mind?"_

 _"No."_

 _William approaches his partner._

 _"I have."_

 _"Thought about it?"_

 _"Yeah, you could say that."_

 _"Oh."_

 _"Yeah."_

 _William reaches out and smooths Albert's hair back. Albert baulks and knocks William's hand away, then laughs nervously._

 _"What are you doing?"_

 _"Nothing."_

 _"Don't do that again."_

 _William doesn't seem concerned with the request._

 _"I was going through your health records," William says._

 _Albert stares at him._

 _"Why?"_

 _"Just curious," he replies as if it isn't a big deal. "Do you know something, Wes? You're biologically perfect. Heart rate of 120 over 80, perfect muscle to fat ratio, 20/20 vision…Amazing genetics. You're the perfect male specimen."_

 _Albert shivers._

 _"You shouldn't go through the health records."_

 _"Who's gonna stop me?" William says. There's bite in his voice._

 _"No one."_

 _Albert gets up. He turns around to pick up his pass, but it isn't where he left it. He starts searching through his lab coat. William watches him._

 _"Are you looking for this?"_

 _He holds it up. Albert looks at him, irritated._

 _"Give me my pass back."_

 _"No."_

 _"I'm not in the mood, Will."_

 _"I know it was you, Wes."_

 _"What are you talking about?"_

 _"You're selling secrets to the enemy."_

 _Albert starts thinking his way out._

 _"I don't know what you're talking about."_

 _"There are only two people who could have given them the information they needed to start. It wasn't me. I'd never betray Umbrella. That leaves you."_

 _Albert doesn't say anything. He knows he's been caught._

 _"I don't see why, Wes."_

 _"Because I hate this place," he says bitterly. "Because I didn't choose this."_

 _"You're lucky to be here."_

 _"No I'm not. I hate this whole thing. If you thought for yourself once in a while you'd agree with me."_

 _"I have thought for myself, Wes. That's why I started using myself as a test subject."_

 _"You what?" Albert says in disbelief._

 _"Little tests here and there, just to see what would happen. It's amazing. The perfect drug."_

 _"You're nuts."_

 _"Really?" William retorts angrily. "You're the one who's nuts, Wes. You're surrounded by power every day. You come in to work and you have the chance to see what it would be like to have ultimate control over everything. But the difference between you and me is you're chicken shit."_

 _Albert holds his hand out._

 _"Give me my pass back."_

 _"No."_

 _"Give it to me."_

 _"No."_

 _"Will."_

 _"No."_

 _William starts to walk towards Albert. His hand is in his front pocket. "Maybe you just need someone to take you by the hand and show you what to do."_

 _"Don't talk to me like that."_

 _"Please, Wes. Your lost puppy dog act wore thin a long time ago. Don't act like you don't know."_

 _"Give me my fucking pass back!"_

 _"No."_

 _Albert backs away from him. "You're afraid of me, aren't you? What do you think I'm gonna do?"_

 _"I don't know."_

 _"Do you think I'm gonna fuck you?"_

 _"Shut up."_

 _"I'm not gonna fuck you, Wes. I'm gonna give you a present."_

 _He pulls a syringe out of his pocket. Albert's eyes widen. He bolts to the other side of the room._

 _"Get away from me!"_

 _"You know, I've never understood your thing with needles. What's the big deal? It doesn't even hurt."_

 _"Give me my pass back, Will."_

 _"No."_

 _"Give it to me."_

 _"No."_

 _William continues to approach. Albert snatches a glass tube from the table and smashes one end of it. He holds the broken pieces in front of him. William smirks. "You always were a drama queen, Wes."_

 _"Get the fuck away from me!"_

 _"It won't hurt, I promise. I'm your friend. I wouldn't hurt you."_

 _"Shut up!"_

 _"You're just so perfect, Wes. Perfect in every way. It's an early strain, it shouldn't do any damage. I just want to see how it works on someone as perfect as you."_

 _"Shut up!"_

 _"I may not have another chance. Especially if you ditch us. You would, wouldn't you?"_

 _"Shut the fuck up and give me my pass!"_

 _"No one gives a shit about you but me, Wes. No one."_

 _"I don't care! Give it back to me!"_

 _William continues to stride forward. He presses the plunger of the syringe until all the air bubbles have been forced out._

 _"If it makes you feel better, I'll give you a sedative first."_

 _Albert panics. He throws a chair in William's way and runs to another corner of the room, still holding the broken glass._

 _"Get away from me!"_

 _"Or what?"_

 _"Give me my pass!"_

 _"Or what, Wes? I'm curious."_

 _"Fuck you!"_

 _"Or what, Wes? Or what?"_

 _Every muscle in Albert's body is tense. William smirks. "You wouldn't be able to fight me off if you tried."_

 _He lunges at him. Albert jumps out of the way, knocking into one of the tables. The items on the table crash down to the floor. "Now look at what you've done," William says steadily._

 _"Get away from me!"_

 _William stops, looks off for a moment in reflection._

 _"Hah," he laughs. "Isn't that funny? I'm dating someone right now, and we were talking about this just the other day. You know what she said? She said, 'Fear is sexy'. She's right. It's just about the sexiest thing I know."_

 _In a moment, he's thrown himself on top of Albert._

 _Albert shakes him off and punches him in the face twice, three times. Each time, William turns back to him, grinning, unscathed. "I took a shot an hour ago. It wears off after a while. Not soon enough for you, though."_

 _He slams his fist into Albert's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Albert gasps and scrambles to his feet again. He tries to slash William with the broken test tube, but it's knocked out of his hand. The fight intensifies, the two men locked together in a violent brawl. Other tables are tipped over, chairs are kicked aside. Albert is bigger than William. He should be able to overpower him, but he can't. William is stronger than him. In one last desperate attempt, Albert picks up the microscope and tries to bring it down on William's head. William dodges with lightening speed, so quickly he's almost a blur. Albert is shocked. William grabs him and slams the side of his head into the floor._

 _Albert's body goes limp. He groans, on the verge of falling unconscious. Blood starts to seep out of his ear. William straddles Albert's chest and takes a sedative out of his pocket, then attaches the head of a needle to it. Coldly, mechanically, he taps it a couple of times and prepares it. Albert is slowly coming to his senses. William presses his hand over Albert's mouth. Albert's breathing quickens. He tries to pry him off, but he's too weak and disoriented. He struggles beneath William's grip. "Shh, shh…" William soothes, holding the needle against Albert's neck. "There we go. That's it." Albert lets out a muffled cry before William finds a vein and sticks the needle in. The struggling slows, then comes to a stop. William applies the second syringe, with an early strain of the virus, into Albert's blood._

 _When it's finished, he leans forward over his friend's unconscious body. He seems exhausted, or elated. He's panting as if he's caught some sort of elusive prey. After a minute, he unfastens his belt, pulls down the zipper of his pants, grabs hold of himself, and starts to masturbate over Albert's chest. He grunts as if he was in pain all this time, as if he has needed this. It doesn't take much to get him off now. He groans helplessly and comes, leaving a puddle in the hollow of Albert's neck._

Jill stops the disk. No one says anything. She skips ahead four hours.

 _Albert wakes up slowly. He doesn't remember what happened. He opens his eyes and looks around. He pulls himself up on his hands and knees. Nausea takes hold of him. He stumbles over to a waste basket and vomits. He hasn't eaten much. He coughs, sputters._

 _William enters the room._

 _"What happened?" he asks._

 _"I don't know," Albert says. "I don't know… I feel sick. Oh god, I'm sick…"_

 _"You want me to take you home?"_

 _"Yeah…"_

 _"Alright. Stand up."_

 _William helps Albert get to his feet. Another wave of nausea comes over him. He lurches, dry heaves. "You're alright, you're alright…" Albert leans against him, holds onto his sleeve._

 _"Thanks, Will."_

 _"You're alright. I'll take you home."_

 _"Thank you."_

 _William uses Albert's pass to open the door. They leave._

The disk stops playing. The silence that follows is heavy. Eventually their eyes all fall on him. His face is blank, emotionless. "Are you okay?" asks Leon.

"No," he says. His voice is full of anger, hatred. "No."

 **Fifty-nine**

"There's more," Jill says.

"I've heard enough."

"There's a reason why it worked on you so well."

"I don't need to hear any more."

"The shots they gave you…"

"Miss Valentine," Wesker says, turning to face her. "I'd advise you to be quiet. Now."

Everyone is silent. They're staring at him. They're expecting him to react, anticipating violence. He doesn't look at them. He remains where he is, perfectly still, his face an alabaster sculpture. They can't tell he's frantically going over everything in his mind, filling in the blanks, putting the pieces of his memory back together. He finally understands why he remembers almost nothing of that night, of his violent death and dramatic rebirth. He finally knows when and where everything changed, when his confidence suddenly grew tenfold, when he decided to forsake everything that made him human. It all keeps coming back to a single thought.

We were friends once…

"I injected myself," he says. "I chose to. I had it planned for that night, when Birkin left the sample for me."

"No you didn't," Cumberland says. "That shot you took was just a saline solution, to make you think you were in control."

"They had this planned from the beginning. Ever since they brought you here."

"Spencer ordered the shots they gave you," Cumberland says.

"Why?" Wesker asks, looking up at him sharply. "He didn't know who I was at that age."

"Yes he did. The patron of that orphanage was Spencer's half-brother."

"How do you know this?"

"It's all on the disk, Wesker."

Wesker doesn't say anything.

"You weren't adopted because you were never up for adoption. They chose you for the experiment," Jill says.

"Experiment…"

"The shots they gave you, from when you were twelve to when you were sixteen, were of a serum they had developed from experiments on POWs in the Second World War in order to… change your DNA."

"For what purpose?" he demands.

Jill swallows.

"To create the first Aryan soldier."

The air is heavy. For those who have heard this the second time, it's easier to take. For those who haven't, it's chilling.

"You're lying," he growls.

"They developed a serum called W-15. It slows the aging process, transforms the blood, the musculature, everything to create the first genetically tailored Aryan race, free from any human imperfections."

"That's why the virus Birkin injected you with worked so well," Cumberland says. "You were already the perfect candidate, and it had years to mature."

Wesker doesn't say anything.

"Why?" Rebecca murmurs. "Why would they do that?"

"Because they knew no one would care," Cumberland answers.

Wesker stands suddenly. Everyone but Rebecca leaps out of the way. Both Chris and Leon put theirs hands on their magnums, ready to draw.

"They bought into the myth of the perfect Aryan society," Cumberland says steadily. "The myth of a society run by unified soldiers. Impenetrable, unstoppable soldiers. Total global domination."

Wesker's shoulders rise and fall with each breath he takes.

"Where is this serum?" he asks.

"It was destroyed some time in the early seventies."

"By who?"

"HCF."

Claire shudders.

"Why?"

"To even the playing field. That way Umbrella couldn't use it to create more."

"HCF knew about it?"

"They were direct competitors. They go back further than we thought."

"If that's true," Wesker says, "then what does Hollum want with me?"

"We don't know," Jill says. "But it can't be good."

No one speaks. Wesker stands where he is, his chin tilted down. He's staring at the floor. No one dares to look at him. Jill turns around and picks up a single beige envelope. "There's one more thing you should know," Jill says.

"What's that?" he asks softly.

"Your real name is in here."

He looks at her. Despite his eyes, he's devoid of emotion. "The name you were given by your parents."

One of the fluorescent bulbs overhead fizzles out. If things weren't the way they are, it would be kind of funny.

"I don't need to see that," he says.

"But it's your name," Rebecca says. "Your real name."

"My real name is Wesker," he says. "That's enough."

Rebecca's jaw tightens. She looks up at Jill.

"Jill, read it."

"Rebecca," he warns.

"Please."

Jill takes a deep breath.

"It's…"

"SHUT UP!" he roars.

Chris, Leon and Claire draw their weapons. Cumberland and Jill step back and brace themselves. Rebecca looks at him, her face awash with fear and sympathy. He snatches her wrist and pulls her close to him, his arm holding her firmly against his body. "Get out, all of you," he says, his voice low and menacing. No one moves. "Did you hear what I said?"

"You can't do this," Chris says. "This isn't our doing."

Wesker turns Rebecca around, puts one hand on her shoulder, one hand on her forehead, and jerks her head to one side.

"Get out or I'll kill her."

"No!" Claire yells.

Rebecca's hands fly to Wesker's arm. She squeezes him. She's starting to hyper-ventilate. "Albert, please!"

"Let her go!" Chris says, aiming for his head.

"Don't shoot! You'll hit her!" Cumberland says.

"Get out or I'll snap her neck. I'm warning you."

Everyone stays where they are. Rebecca closes her eyes. The rest of them look at Claire. As their Captain, the ball is in her court. She takes a deep breath.

"Everyone out," she says.

They back away slowly, reluctantly. "You have fifteen minutes, Wesker," she says. "Then we're all going to decide what to do whether you like it or not."

He doesn't answer. "Rebecca?"

"Captain?"

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah…" she answers, her voice shaky.

"You touch her and I'll kill you!" Chris says.

Still, he doesn't answer.

They file out the door. Captain Redfield is the last to leave.

"Fifteen minutes," she says. "And don't try anything."

Soon Wesker and Rebecca are alone.

He lets go of her and walks away. She stays where she is, gazing at him through a threatened flood of tears.

"Albert?"

He shakes his head. "Albert? Are you alright?"

He doesn't answer. "Talk to me, please."

She picks up the envelope, puts it in her pocket and approaches him from behind. She puts her arms on his shoulders, turns him around. One of his hands is over his mouth. "Albert?" His eyes are closed. "Dear heart?"

She pulls his hand away from his face. His mouth is open, twisted.

He's crying.

Without a sound.

She puts her arms around him. He holds her against him, his body shaking, but still silent. "He betrayed me…" he whispers hoarsely.

"I'm sorry, Albert…"

"He betrayed me… he turned me into what I am… they all did…"

"I'm sorry."

"I could have been different…"

"There's still a chance."

"For a cure?" he asks, his voice growing steady again.

"Yeah."

"There's no cure, Rebecca."

"You don't know that."

"I'm sorry I threatened you."

"I know you, Albert… you can still be a good person."

"No…"

"Yes you can."

He pulls away. She looks at him. He's back to the way he usually is; steely; austere.

"I have to get out of here," he says.

"I'll tell the others."

"I'm not interested in their assistance. I don't need it."

"We're all in this together, Albert. We're all involved."

"Come with me," he says.

She shrugs.

"And go where?" she asks.

"There are several places we can go. I have the means."

"Just you and me?"

"Yes."

She shakes her head, looks at him sadly.

"I can't, Albert."

He pulls her to him, and his lips find hers, part hers. They share a deep, passionate kiss.

"I'm sorry, dear heart," he whispers gently. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice."

 **Sixty**

They're all assembled in the employee lounge.

Cumberland is standing in the corner.

Jill is sitting next to Chris. Her head is on his shoulder.

Chris is staring straight ahead. He's holding Jill's hand.

Claire is pacing.

Leon steps into the room. "They're gone."

"Shit," Claire mutters. She turns around and kicks a chair, sends it flying.

"Where do you think they'll go?" Jill asks, raising her head.

"Who knows? They could be anywhere."

"Ada would know," Leon says.

"Can you get in touch with her?"

"Yeah. But I haven't been able to reach her for a couple of hours now."

"He took her, you know," Chris says. "No way Rebecca would just go with him."

"She loves him, Chris," Claire says.

"That doesn't mean she'd go with him. I know Rebecca."

"He's right," Leon says. "She wouldn't just leave. Not now."

Claire knows they're right, but she doesn't want to know what that means.

The door to the lounge suddenly bursts open. Ada stumbles in. Her hair is greasy and a mess, her eyes are black, her lips dry and cracked. She's clutching her shoulder. She's been shot.

Leon dashes over to her.

"You have to get out of here," she says. Her voice sounds raw, desperate.

"What happened?" Leon asks. He puts his arm around her and tries to pry her hand off the wound. Cumberland approaches her, concerned.

"I went back… It didn't make sense, something was missing, so I went back…"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Leon says angrily. "You could have been killed."

"I didn't want you to get hurt."

"She'll be alright," Cumberland says after taking a look at the bullet hole. "The wound isn't that bad." He sets about cleaning and dressing it. It won't take him long.

"You all have to get out of here now!" she moans as Leon touches one of her eyes.

"What's going on?" Claire asks.

"I had to find out why Hollum wants Wesker alive…"

"Who did this to you?" Leon demands.

Ada chuckles bitterly.

"My former associates. Where's Wesker?"

"He's gone."

"Shit…"

"He took Rebecca with him."

"We have to find them."

Claire's PCD starts beeping.

Hollum is trying to get in touch with her.

They look at each other, panicking. They look at Claire. She puts the PCD on the rickety table, takes out her pistol, and shoots it. It shatters into a million pieces. Everyone is standing. "We have to split up," she says.

"Where do we go?" Jill asks.

"I'll figure out a way to contact you all," she says. "Right now we need to get the hell out of here."

No one knows what to say.

Chris wants to go with Jill.

Claire wants to get Cumberland back into protective custody.

Leon doesn't want her to go alone; he's also worried about Ada.

Jill is eager to leave the Facility; she doesn't care who she leaves with.

Ada knows she works best alone.

They all stand together, in a circle, facing each other.

"This is it," Claire says at last. "Good luck, everybody." They nod.

Then silently, one by one, they file out of the lounge, down the dirty, musty smelling hallway, and out into the cold night air.

They all think it's a little too dramatic.

But life is like that sometimes.


End file.
